


late presentation

by Slice_of_Apple



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alpha Oikawa Tooru, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Attempted Sexual Assault, Eventual Romance, Fluffy Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-con rating is for attempted assault no actual rape, Not Canon Compliant, Oikage is endgame, Oikawa Tooru is a Little Shit, Omega Kageyama Tobio, Romance, Sex Education, Some parts follow story line but others don't, Spoilers, Sweet, ch. 9 and up no longer following story line, definitely some OOC stuff, gender harrassment, not accurate re: volleyball schedule, oikage, only the very tiniest bit of smut, plot may not be totally coherent ;-), plot may not totally make sense, spoilers through all of season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 35,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28105668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slice_of_Apple/pseuds/Slice_of_Apple
Summary: Kageyama presents late and unhappily as an omega.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Miya Atsumu, Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 168
Kudos: 961





	1. late presentation

**Author's Note:**

> Again, i am not confident with names/honorifics. Please correct if inaccurate - thank you! 
> 
> cheers

Kageyama leaves volleyball practice feeling unusually drained. This week has been so _off_. To start with, he hasn’t felt well. Nothing too bad, but he keeps waking up with headaches and strange pains that don’t seem to be the usual sore muscles from volleyball. He’s tired, too, even though he’s getting more sleep than he usually does. Just yesterday, his mother had commented on how pale he looked.

What’s really bothering Kageyama, though, is that his practices have been subpar. On Monday, he had told himself that he was imagining things. But now it’s Thursday, and the fourth day in a row that his tosses have been a shade too high, or too low, or otherwise badly aimed. His serves have been uncharacteristically weak and poorly directed. Overall, he has been lacking in both energy and skill.

Having one rotten day is one thing, but four days? In a row? Kageyama is frustrated and anxious. What if something serious has changed? What if he’s lost his ability to toss?

He decides to stop at Sakanoshita Market on the way home and grab some protein bars. Maybe they’ll boost up his energy.

He meanders through the small aisles, searching for something that appeals to him. However, for some reason, the sight of all the wrapped food is only making him nauseated.

He’s just decided to leave without buying anything when he unexpectedly comes face to face with Oikawa Tooru. He immediately stiffens. He is barely a match for Oikawa at the best of times, and today he is simply not up for it. It doesn’t matter that Karasuno won that practice match against Aoba Johsai. Oikawa is still the Great King, and still inspires respect, awe, and fear in him. 

Oikawa’s smile is as glib as ever. He is like a scorpion, distracting his prey with that shiny, hard, exterior as his tail whips around to sink the deadly stinger in.

“Yoo-hoo! Long time no see, Tobio-chan. What are you doing, wandering around at this hour all alone? Getting some yummy milk?”

“Oikawa-san.” He scowls, but it feels weak and ineffectual on his face. He tries to pass, but Oikawa blocks him. 

“How is your crown, King of the Court? Heavy as ever?”

It does feel like Kageyama is wearing a crown, a heavy band around his head. It is constricting his mind, dulling his thoughts, making them slow and syrupy. So slow and syrupy that he can’t think of anything to say in return. He settles for the usual, “Next time we’ll beat you again, Oikawa-san.”

He bows, ready to end the conversation. Unfortunately, in the middle of the bow, he starts to keel over. He is forced to press his hand to the ground in order to regain his balance. Once upright, he briefly closes his eyes against a wave of dizziness. 

“You’re looking under the weather, Tobio-chan,” says Oikawa sharply. “What’s wrong?”

“Goodbye Oikawa-san,” says Kageyama, slightly breathlessly. He turns, desperate to get away. He always leaves encounters with Oikawa feeling like he has been pummeled, only tonight it’s about ten times worse than usual.

When he gets home, his nausea has worsened, and he only picks at the meat buns his mother has prepared as a special treat for him. He can feel the worried looks she keeps casting at him.

He wakes up on Friday feeling worse than ever, heavy and thick. His mother takes his temperature. There’s no fever, but she tells him he can take the day off of school to rest. Of course Kageyama declines. The rule in his house is, “No school, no volleyball,” and no way is he missing volleyball for a little bit of nothing.

Unfortunately, his practice is atrocious. He is slow and weak. Unbelievably frustrated, he asks Hinata to stay after with him. Hinata agrees, as he always does. Kageyama has decided that he will stay as late as he needs in order to get back on target.

“You should drink something, Kageyama-kun. You’re very sweaty,” observes Hinata, as Kageyama takes a moment to catch his breath.

Kateyama realizes that it’s true. Liquid is almost pouring off his forehead. He also feels hot. Not the usual sweaty, workout hot. A strange, uncomfortable, prickling heat. Kageyama shrugs it off. He’s not going to let it stop him. He’ll stay here and sweat as much as he has to, if he can just get his tosses back. 

“Another one,” he pants to Hinata. “A quick.”

Hinata nods, and obligingly readies himself to run across the court as Kageyama throws the ball in the air so he can mimic a receive.

As he positions his arms for the toss, several things happen in quick succession.

The first is that his vision blurs. One moment, he can see the ball in perfect detail, and the next, it is wavering before his eyes. He blinks furiously, wiping the sweat off his face, but the image does not resolve. Rather, the edges go gray, and then his entire field of vision darkens.

Kageyama freezes, and the ball slams into his forehead. It’s not too hard a hit, but it feels like a concrete wall has fallen onto him. He stumbles and falls painfully to his knees. 

The world is spinning around him. Panicked, he flails out his arms, trying to catch hold of something to steady himself. _What is happening?_

“Kageyama-kun!” he hears Hinata’s voice as though from a great distance. “Are you all right?” Hinata’s hand grabs his, and Kageyma clutches on to it as tightly as he can. It feels like a lifeline in the incomprehensible, swirling maelstrom that seems to have overtaken him.

Hinata is shouting now. “Help! Help!” Kageyama wonders dimly who he is talking to. Everyone else has left.

But Hinata’s hand is in his, and Kageyama holds on to it like a drowning person seizing a life raft. It is the only thing that is anchoring him into a world that has tilted dangerously on its axis.

Just as he regains some semblance of security from Hinata’s touch, pain lances through his abdomen. He gasps in agony, dropping Hinata’s hand and doubling over. He pitches forward, smacking his face painfully on the ground. 

He whimpers. The pain is worse than anything he’s ever experienced. Worse than any volleyball workout pain. Worse, even, than when he fell off the monkey bars as a young child and broke his arm. It had been excruciating, then, being carried to the car, before the arm was stabilized and he had been given medication. But this, somehow, is worse. He lies completely still, folded over himself, as the pain rolls through him. The prickling heat also increases, rising to an uncomfortable crescendo. It is accompanied by an almost overpowering smell – a rich, heady scent that burns his nostrils.

What is it? Where is it coming from? Why is he burning up? And why can’t he _see_? Without Hinata’s hand, he feels lost and alone. A terrible fear rises. _What’s wrong with him_?

Although it seems like an eternity, it is probably only a minute or two before he hears Sugawara’s familiar voice murmuring into his ear and feels Sugawara’s cool, competent hands on his forehead. It is not much later than that when the ambulance arrives, but by then Kageyama is unconscious.

Kageyama wakes up in a strange room. There is a strong smell of antiseptic. He has no pain, but he feels incredibly weak. He blinks and rolls his head to the side. He is in a bed with rails on it, and there are various tubes running across the blankets and into his arm.

Someone hovers near him. It is a woman with a kind, cheerful face. She says, briskly, “You gave us quite a scare young man, but you’re on the mend. Best to get some more rest, now.”

Kageyama gratefully closes his eyes and drifts back to sleep.

The next time he wakes up, he feels more alert. Almost immediately, the memory of the gymnasium sweeps back through his mind, and he groans.

The sound brings someone back to his bedside. It’s the same woman as before, and Kageyama feels comforted by her presence.

“Where am I?” he croaks out in a scratchy voice. His throat hurts. 

“You’re in the hospital. You’ve been quite sick. Your mother just left. We’ll let her know that you’re conscious.”

Kageyama doesn’t really understand much of what’s happening. He is very tired, and he remains confused for the remainder of that day. It is not until the next day that he is feeling strong and lucid enough to want answers. When he asks his mother what happened, she only hugs him and bites her lip. She says that they will meet with the doctor later, to “discuss everything.”

The doctor is a forbidding-looking man with a beard and glasses. Kageyama watches uneasily as he relaxes into the chair, as though settling in for a long discussion. Things that are only temporary do not require long discussions. Things that are getting better do not require long discussions. Kageyama’s apprehension grows.

“You are a very lucky young man, Kageyama Tobio. You have been extremely ill, and you are making a thoroughly remarkable recovery.”

Kageyama stares at him, and the man stares back. He seems to be hesitating. This, naturally, increases Kageyama’s anxiety.

“Why?” he blurts out. “What’s wrong with me?”

“You have had a very late presentation, probably due to your extreme athleticism. While rare, it is not unheard of for such things to occur. Such intense physical conditioning delays presentation for so long that when it does finally hit, for reasons that are poorly understood, it can trigger an intense cytokine storm. If not treated properly, such events can result in permanent damage, or even death. Again, you are extremely lucky.”

The words tumble meaninglessly past Kageyama’s ears, like gibberish. What is the doctor saying?

He looks toward his mother for help. She is staring at the doctor, her head nodding slightly, as if his words make complete sense to her. The ground is again shifting underneath Kageyama’s feet. He feels a rising panic. Why can’t the doctor speak clearly? “

“I don’t understand,” Kageyama interrupts. He hates that his voice sounds so weak, so tremulous. “What are you saying?”

The doctor hitches his glasses up. He clears his throat and shifts in his chair. He looks uncomfortable. By now, Kageyama’s stomach is knotted up with dread.

“To put it plainly,” the doctor says, then pauses for a long moment. “You have presented as an omega.”

Kageyama’s jaw drops.

He can’t speak. The doctor must be joking! But why would he joke about something like that? And if he was joking, why would he have such a pitying look on his face? 

Then it hits him. The doctor is not joking. He means what he’s saying. That Kageyama is an omega.

“An omega?” he whispers in horror. But no. It simply can’t be. “You’re lying.”

“I understand that this is a shock. But I assure you, I am not lying,” the man replies calmly.

“It’s not true,” Kageyama says angrily, crossing his hands across his chest. He wishes he had his own clothes on. He feels terribly vulnerable in the thin hospital gown.

“I know it is a lot to take in, and there is quite a bit of additional information I have to discuss with you. I am here to help,” the doctor continues smoothly, as if he has not just pushed Kageyama headfirst over a cliff.

“I don’t want your help,” says Kageyama. He turns on his side, his back to the doctor. He knows he’s behaving childishly, being outright rude even, but he can’t help it. Even now, the tears are gathering in his eyes.

An _omega_! Omegas are weak, fragile creatures. Omegas don’t compete in national volleyball tournaments! Omegas aren’t starting setters! He panics when his vision wavers, just as it did in the gym, until he realizes that it’s just the tears – thick, heavy things, spilling out of his eyes and tracking down his cheeks.

“Perhaps I should come back at a more convenient time,” says the doctor to Kageyama’s back. Kageyama hears his footsteps leave the room, and he jams his face into the pillow.

He can feel his mother’s hand on his shoulder, but he angrily shrugs her away. 

“Tobio,” she says gently.

“Go away,” he sobs. “Leave me alone!”

He hears the door close softly behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is evolving a little differently than expected, I had to go back and add something in to the first chapter, hope it works

Over the next 48 hours, Kageyama steadily regains his strength. He really is making a speedy recovery. Everyone comments on it – the nurses, the doctors, his mother. He can’t understand, though, why they keep telling him that he’s _lucky._

An _omega._ The thought alone fills him with shame and brings tears to his eyes. He’s always ready to cry now, he thinks bitterly. The perfect omega. 

The doctor returns the next day, but Kageyama turns to the side and covers his head with the pillow. It is only the following day that his mother does not allow him to refuse. He will be discharged soon, and the inevitable cannot be put off.

Kageyama is not happy about it. He’s angry at his mother, anyway. When he woke up in the afternoon, there was a book sitting prominently on the tray next to his bed: _Omega Athletes_. He looks at it again with distaste. The glossy cover is filled with beautiful, innocent-looking people grinning happily as they pose near various types of athletic gear. The cover is nothing like the covers of books about elite alpha athletes, locked in deadly combat with their opponents; _their_ faces are never so softly pretty. 

Kageyama growls. The book is a worthy target for the shame, powerlessness and despair he’s been feeling. He grabs it and attacks. It’s probably quite an expensive book and has a very sturdy binding. In fact, it takes all his strength to rip the cover off, but rip it off he does. He hurls the broken mess into the trash, where it lands with a satisfying thunk.

His mother raises her eyebrows slightly when she sees it later that day but doesn’t say anything.

It is a new doctor this time, and Kageyama is glad. This one is older and has a kinder, more expressive face. Kageyama immediately feels more comfortable. He warns himself against this feeling – the doctors here are not his friends. They are like serpents, bringing poisonous news. He glowers angrily at the doctor – _I’m not going to make this easy for you_ \- but the doctor only smiles in a friendly manner back at him.

“We saw you in a match,” he starts off, sweeping Kageyama’s legs out from under him. “I have a grandson in middle school, and we watched you play last month. Outstandingly, I might add. You are an exceptional volleyball player.”

First point to the doctor. Despite himself, Kageyama is almost won over by this opening salvo. _Maybe he will understand._ Probably not, he tells himself. Nobody who doesn’t play themselves can truly understand. But he can’t help hoping. He is so ridiculously grateful that the doctor didn’t say, “You _were_ an exceptional volleyball player.”

Shortly thereafter, when the doctor segues into a discussion about omegas, Kageyama stiffens but does not turn away.

They go through the basics: what the secondary gender means, how his body may change over time, issues of fertility and birth control. The doctor is very matter-of-fact and not in the least embarrassed to go into detail. He talks about all the things Kageyama would have learned in health class, if he had paid any attention. He’s doing his best to pay attention now, despite having difficulty concentrating. The doctor seems to understand this, because he hands Kageyama a binder and says that all the information is written there as well. 

He keeps waiting for the doctor to address the only question he’s interested in. When he doesn’t, and Kageyama can’t wait another second, he interrupts him in mid-sentence to ask, “When can I start playing?”

The doctor is silent for a moment. “Of course,” he eventually says. “You would want to know that. I’d like to remind you that you’ve had an unusually late and severe presentation. Because of that, your safety remains at risk.”

Kageyama doesn’t like the sound of that. He turns his head to the side but remains sitting up. The doctor still feels like more of an ally than an opponent. He is both surprised and pleased to find that his guarded optimism has not been misplaced.

“How we proceed from here depends, in part, on what _you_ want. It is your life, after all.”

Kageyama could cry with relief, and he does, indeed, feel that now familiar heaviness behind his eyes. This whole situation has shaken Kageyama to his core, has left him feeling completely helpless, tossed about willy-nilly in a storm he didn’t even know could exist. To a person like Kagyeyama, who is used to having an almost ironclad control over his body, it has been the worst of betrayals.

To be told that he has a say in what will happen, that he can still influence his own life, is like being given water in a desert.

“What we typically recommend in cases like yours is to allow your body to experience the next few heats as they come.” Kageyama blinks, but it is his mother who asks the next question.

“How often will that happen?”

“There is always an element of unpredictability about these things. However, based on available data, and my own experience, I would guess that for the next six months or so you will continue to have potentially dangerously aggressive heats relatively frequently, perhaps as often as every few weeks. You would need to be immediately hospitalized when each started, at least initially, so you could receive intensive treatment right away if it became necessary. This will allow the heats to, so to speak, burn themselves out.

“At some point you would likely plateau into a more comfortable maintenance schedule. Thereafter, you would be expected to have heats about every 3 to 6 months, and in all probability far milder than this first one. While this approach means you will have a potentially bumpy course for the next half year or so, it is also the approach most likely to lead to long-term stability. As I said, this is what we usually recommend in these situations.”

Kageyama stares at him, appalled. He didn’t take everything in, but he understood enough. Six months! Hospitalized every few weeks! He can’t afford to miss even one more day of practice, not to mention days on end!

The doctor gives him a wry smile. He says, dryly, “I can see that this option does not appeal to you.”

Kageyama’s mother’s face has drained of all color. Kageyama is waiting for her to say that he can’t play volleyball anymore, that he has to let the heats come, that his safety comes first. She has never been a particularly demonstrative person, but she lays her hand on Kageyama’s arm before she speaks. His heart sinks.

“Volleyball is everything to my son. Is there another option?” she asks.

Kageyama stares at her in surprise. He didn’t know she understood so well. As a single parent, she is almost always working, and rarely attends any of his matches. Gratitude fills him. But his attention snaps quickly back to the doctor.

“An alternative solution is to use suppressants. We don’t like to use them in these situations, because of the already proven severity of the patient’s response. However, it is possible that an aggressive course of carefully tailored suppressants will be effective in largely if not wholly suppressing your heats for some period of time. Given the severity of this recent event, the doses would need to be much higher than standard suppressant doses. The goal would be to gradually wean these down over time, allowing the heats to return slowly, hopefully in a much more controlled manner. This approach will take quite a bit longer than the one I outlined previously; in fact, it may be years before you are able to settle into a predictable schedule.”

The doctor is speaking directly to Kageyama now.

“While I would recommend the first option for reasons of safety, there are risks and benefits to both approaches, and both are acceptable choices. I will leave the final decision to you and your mother.”

Kageyama’s heart soars. He can keep playing!

“That being said,” the doctor says warningly, plainly taking note of Kageyama’s palpable excitement, “you must understand that taking suppressants, especially the types we would need to use in your case, is not pleasant. They can have serious side effects, and you will need to be monitored closely, both with doctor’s visits and blood tests.

“In addition, this kind of regimen needs to be adhered to with absolute rigor. The doses must be taken at exactly the same time each day. Repeated delayed doses, and more than one missed dose (and in rare cases even one), can trigger a severe heat, similar to the one you just experienced.

“If this is the option you choose, it would be best to start immediately, before any further cycles start. It is a good idea to start them in the hospital in any case, as the first few days will be the worst in terms of symptoms. After that, things should improve somewhat.”

The doctor has come prepared. He gives Kageyama and his mother each a fact sheet listing the drugs he would be taking and their possible side effects. It is a three-drug cocktail conveniently packaged in one pill. Kageyama barely glances at the long list in front of him. He doesn’t care. There is no question in his mind. He _must_ play volleyball for the rest of the year.

“Not pleasant” turns out to have been an understatement. The first week on the medication is so miserable that it almost has Kageyama doubting his choice. He is horribly nauseous, his muscles ache all the time, and all he wants to do is sleep.

The medication set comes with an alarm app for his phone, and a metered bottle, recording the date and time it is opened. He will meet every other week with the pediatric endocrinologist and has to bring the bottle and his log with him.

By the time the second week rolls around, he is pleasantly surprised to find that he feels quite a bit better. And by the third week, he is itching to be back on the court. He spends his days practicing as best he can by himself. The rest of his time is spent struggling through the mountain of homework that has accumulated during his absence.

But finally, it is time to return. School officials were informed of his status, of course, but when he meets with Coach Ukai he is infinitely relieved to find out that on the team only Sugawara, Daichi, and Hinata are aware of the reason he was hospitalized, and that they have promised not to discuss it with anyone else. None of the other Karasuno students should know either. Hopefully, on the suppressants no one will be able to smell him (he shudders at this repulsive thought), and his shameful secret will remain hidden.

“Kageyama-kun!” hollers Hinata. “You’re baaaaaack!” He runs over, jumping up and down with excitement. Kageyama is happy no one else is there yet. It is a bit much to even meet Hinata after all this time and solitude.

“I’m so glad you’re alright. When you fell it was like – boom! a mountain crumbling! I was worried!”

Kageyama smiles. He had forgotten how very bouncy Hinata is.

Until Hinata unfortunately adds, “And you’re an omega!”

Kageyama scowls.

“But you’re still making that scary face!”

Before he realizes what’s happening, Hinata has jumped up to his shoulder and is sniffing at his neck.

“What are you doing, you moron?” he growls, pushing Hinata away hard.

“I wanted to see if you smell different,” says Hinata unrepentantly.

“Well, don’t, you loser! And shut up about me being that... _thing._ Other people don't know.”

“Ohhh,” says Hinata, his eyes round. “Right. Sorry, Kageyama-kun, it won’t happen again. Now throw me some tosses. Before anyone else comes. I want to get your first tosses.”

And then it’s almost like he never left. In fact, it’s much better than he expects. While he is definitely weaker than his peak condition, he is overall much better off than he was during the week leading up to his hospitalization, and his accuracy is almost as good as ever.

In those first few minutes of sending tosses to Hinata, it’s as though an enormous weight falls from his shoulders and he can finally breathe again.

Hinata continues with the steady stream of babble.

“I’m glad you’re back. Sugawara-san is good, but you’re better. The only way we’re going to overcome the Great King and take down the Eagle and make it to Nationals is with your tosses.”

“We’re going to win,” agrees Kageyama, and for the first time in weeks he allows himself to believe it may be possible.

Everyone else is equally glad to see him, but, like Hinata, they settle quickly down to business. It’s practice as usual, and Kageyama couldn’t be happier.

At the end of practice, Kageyama is tired but incredibly satisfied and relieved.

He is about to follow the others into the locker room when Sugawara beckons him over.

“How are you feeling?” he asks with studied casualness.

“I’m fine, Sugawara-san,” says Kageyama shortly. Now that he knows he can still play volleyball, he wants to put the whole omega business behind him as much as possible.

Sugawara seems to have something else he wants to say, though, so Kageyama waits – Sugawara _was_ extremely helpful when he was sick, after all.

“I'm an omega.”

“What?” Kageyama is shocked. He had no idea.

“Yes. I don’t feel the need to broadcast it,” says Suga. “The people who need to know, know.”

“But. You don’t smell!” Kageyama blurts out.

Sugawara blushes. “My heats are very rare, and… Daichi… takes care of me during them. No one else can really smell me at this point.”

Kageyama blushes also. To hear such personal details! But he’s grateful. If Sugawara-san can bear it, then perhaps he can, too.

“What I am trying to say is that you can still lead your life. You can still be an elite volleyball player. It’s not the end of the world, being an omega. And… I know you often relied on yourself, back in middle school. But remember. You’re not alone anymore. You’re part of our team. And we have your back.”

At these words, Kageyama feels something that he didn’t realize was tense ease inside of himself. He _has_ felt alone with this terrible thing. It’s not that he wants to tell any of his other teammates, or that he wants their help in any specific way, but knowing that he _could_ have it if he needed it is infinitely reassuring. It’s so different from last year, and the years before. He again feels the ridiculous, prickling heaviness behind his eyes. Those stupid tears!

He quickly bows and lets out a gruff, “Thank you Sugawara-san,” before fleeing to the locker room.


	3. Chapter 3

Kageyama has been at practice for a few weeks, and things are essentially back to normal. He is settling into his new status as an omega, and overall, his life is moving along pretty much as it was before. Yes, he has the frequent doctor’s visits. And, yes, he does not enjoy the blood tests. But it’s a small price to pay for being able to play volleyball.

One other new thing, however, is that Hinata has become subtly protective of him. Not during practices, or with anything to do with volleyball. But outside of the gym, he does little things, like hover around Kagyama more than usual at school, or walk him partway home after volleyball. It’s not overbearing, and Kageyama doesn’t mind it so much. In fact, there’s something reassuring to him about Hinata’s presence. 

Today, Hinata is wheeling his bicycle next to Kageyama as they leave school grounds. They are reviewing practice in great detail – or, rather, Hinata is, with Kageyama adding in “Yes,” and “So,” at appropriate intervals, when they decide to stop at the Sakanoshita Market.

As he walks in, Kageyama thinks about how different it is compared to the last time he was here, the night before his collapse. He has only mild, intermittent nausea these days, and he happily picks out a protein bar to have tomorrow at school. He did lose muscle during his illness, and he’s doing his best to try to gain it all back.

“Ah, the King of the Court and Chibi-chan,” says a mocking voice.

Kageyama turns. _Not again_ , he thinks. Now that he’s feeling better, he has the wherewithal to wonder what the hell Oikawa is even doing here. This can’t be on his regular route to anything. And what would he want at this market that he couldn’t find closer to home?

Hinata moves so that he is standing in front of Kageyama, his stance protective.

Oikawa’s eyes narrow, and Kageyama grimaces. Stupid Hinata. The last thing Kageyama wants is to show any weakness in front of the pit viper standing before them.

He moves to plant his feet solidly next to Hinata, so they are both facing Oikawa head-on. Even though Oikawa is not that much taller than Kageyama, he seems to loom menacingly over the two of them.

“I hope you two ducklings have been working hard. You’re going to need to be in top form the next time we meet on the court.”

“Kageyama is going to overthrow you, Great King,” says Hinata, sticking his chest out aggressively. _Overthrow Oikawa?_ Kageyama wonders. _Is such a thing possible?_ But Hinata isn’t done yet. “We’re going to be the last ones standing.”

Oikawa’s eyes flash. “Strong words from Shrimpy-chan. I hope we meet in the inter high qualifiers.” He stretches out a long finger and points, first at Kageyama and then at Hinata. “I look forward to squashing my special little underclassman, and you, too, Chibi-chan.” With that, he leaves.

This time, Kageyama doesn’t feels so beaten up by the exchange. He hates to admit it, but it helps to have Hinata by his side. And Oikawa may be the top of his class now, but Kageyama’s going to claw his way up there and overtake him. If they do face off in the tournament, and if he can beat Oikawa fair and square, in an official match, then he will have proven that he’s not just some stupid, weak omega.

Although he would prefer to ignore everything to do with being an omega, he has found himself making his way through the binder the doctor gave him in the hospital. He can only read small bits at a time, or else he becomes overwhelmed.

One night, he is stretched out on his bed, reading, when he comes to a section he does not like. 

_Omega Careers_ is the title of the chapter. It is very short. The opening sentence has his blood immediately boiling.

“While some omegas enjoy careers outside the home, many prefer to live as homemakers, under the care and protection of their beloved alphas.”

Kageyama stares at the page, fury rising in him. _Never!_ he vows. Never will he submit to the “care and protection” of any dumb alpha! His anger only fuels his determination to win. Hinata is right. He _will_ overthrow the Great King. They’ll beat Aoba Johsai, Date Tech, Shiratorizawa – anyone who stands in their way.

At the Inter-high preliminaries, it will be Karasuno, with Kageyama as the starting setter, who end up in the winner’s court. It will be Karasuno heading to nationals, to face off against the best of the Tokyo teams.

After this, Kageyama completely submerges himself in his quest for victory. At practice after practice, he pushes himself relentlessly to improve. To make this vision a reality.

Several weeks later, after a grueling volleyball practice, he decides to treat himself to meat buns on the way home. Hinata had to go straight home to babysit his sister that day, and Kageyama is alone. He’s humming to himself, pleased with how practice went. He and Hinata were seamlessly in sync, almost effortlessly nailing move after move.

A familiar, ironic voice greets him.

“Tobio-chan! Aren’t you looking jolly today?”

He turns in surprise, meat buns in hand. Oikawa. _Again?!_

“We have to stop meeting like this,” says Oikawa, in his light, airy voice, his face pulled into that ridiculous, teasing smile.

Kageyama can only stare at him.

“The Interhigh qualifying tournament is coming up. Are you ready? Ready to be chewed up and spit out?”

If Kageyama didn’t know any better, he would think that Oikawa was appearing solely for the purpose of needling him. No matter. He’s feeling particularly confident after today’s practice.

He replies coolly, “You may think that you’re the best, Oikawa-san, but we are in a good position to beat you. Karasuno is going to represent Miyagi Prefecture at nationals this year. Not Aoba Johsai.”

“You speak with a staggering amount of bravado, Tobio-chan. What has Karasuno done about the gaping holes in its defense? Receives can’t be improved in a few days, or even a few weeks, as you know.”

Kageyama frowns. Karasuno still has serious weaknesses, and yes, he does know this.

Oikawa laughs his irritating, tinkling laugh.

“Don’t hurt your brain cells by thinking too much, Tobio-chan. You’ll strain your pretty little head. And with a strained head,” - here he touches a finger lightly to Kageyama’s forehead – “will you still be a volleyball genius?”

Kageyama angrily swats the hand away.

Oikawa only smiles his glittering smile and waves an ironic peace sign at Kageyama before passing him.

Kageyama breathes deeply in and out, trying to cool the prickly rage rising in him. Oikawa has an uncanny ability to get under his skin. He wishes whatever was bringing Oikawa to this part of town would end. The place where Oikawa’s finger had rested is still tingling faintly when he goes to pay at the register.

The night before the qualifier tournament, Kageyama is buzzing with nerves. He tosses and turns in his bed, unable to fall asleep. He can see it, taste it, his dream of going to nationals. It is right in front of him. One step on the way to the bigger dream, the dream of a professional volleyball career.

He has to win. He’ll do anything to win. His tosses will have micro-precision. He’ll use Hinata’s incredible speed and agility to its maximum potential. He’ll toss to Asahi’s strength and Tanaka’s stamina. With these thoughts rumbling through his mind, he doesn’t fall asleep until well past 2 in the morning.

When his alarm goes off at 5 a.m., he barely makes it out of the house with his gym bag and his jacket.

He is on the bus, halfway to the tournament, when his suppressants alarm goes off.

His stomach drops. Damn! His mother is out of town for work, and there’s no one else he can ask to get them.

But the doctor had said that it took _more than one missed dose_ to lose the suppressant effect. He remembers those exact words, from the hospital. He forces himself to calm down. He’ll be fine. He even manages to doze off for a bit before they arrive.

Nothing happens. Kageyama plays well. He feels better than usual, even – the nausea completely dissipates, and he seems to have more energy, despite the lack of sleep. It’s a reminder that the suppressants do take a toll on him. 

Kageyama isn't the only one who plays well. The whole team comes together, and they beat Aoba Johsai in a thrilling upset. Kageyama feels a surge of triumph when he victoriously faces Oikawa at the end of the game. They did it! He did it!

The victory only whets Kageyama’s appetite for more. Omega or not, he will play volleyball until they pry his hands off the ball and drag him from the court. His compulsion to win, _to keep playing_ , is stronger than ever.

He takes the suppressant as soon as he arrives home.

The next morning they don’t have to leave so early, so he is still home when the suppressant alarm goes off. He quickly takes the pill. Unfortunately, taking two pills within a twelve-hour timeframe rapidly brings on a severe bout of nausea. Before he leaves the house, he vomits up the suppressant and his breakfast. He knows that if he throws up within an hour of taking the pill, he’s supposed to take a second one. But he’s still too nauseous to think of trying again.

He considers calling his doctor, but it is early on a Sunday morning. More importantly, Kageyama is afraid he will be told he cannot play in the match, and he cannot risk that. They _have to_ win today. _He has to play._

He hesitates, then stuffs the bottle into his bag. He’ll take the pill when they arrive at the tournament - after he’s gotten some food down. He tells himself that a short delay can’t hurt.

After a rough start, they’re able to hold their own against Shiratorizawa. Kageyama is playing all out. He fights relentlessly, mercilessly, with all the tools at his disposal.

By the fifth set, he’s flagging. Coach takes him out of the game, and he is replaced with Sugawara. As he sits, watching the match, he can barely see through the sweat dripping down his forehead. He has a pounding headache. He puts a wet towel over his head, but it doesn’t help much. His vision seems to be blurring slightly as well.

At the realization, he jolts upright in a panic. The suppressants! Still in his bag, untouched. He has forgotten all about them.

That’s two late doses. _Shit_! He’s trembling as he stands up. Could it _really_ be happening? Again? _Now_?

“Bathroom,” he mumbles, to no one in particular, and makes his way out of the gym. He grabs his pill bottle and then exits the locker room on the other side. He doesn’t want to chance an encounter with anyone he knows. No one is about in the halls; all eyes are on the drama unfolding inside the gym.

By the time he finds and staggers into a bathroom, he can barely stand. He turns on the tap and fumbles with the pill bottle. But he can’t open it. His clumsy fingers paw uselessly at the metered, child-proof cap. He nearly screams with frustration.

He is eventually able to wrench the top open. Unfortunately, by now his hands are shaking so much that the pills spill onto the floor. He starts to bend down, but quickly aborts this effort, clutching onto the sink before he falls. The floor is heaving underneath him. He puts his back to the wall and slides down. From a sitting position, he tries to grab a pill, just one, but his fingers can’t reach any of them. His desperation grows. He has to take his pill so he can get back onto the court! He has to play! 

As he rests against the wall, he feels a familiar, wholly unwelcome prickling on his skin and a lick of pain across his abdomen. _Oh no!_ But at this point, he is too weak to rise. He sits helplessly on the floor, cursing his own carelessness.

While Kageyama is sprawled half-conscious on the bathroom floor, Karasuno wins the final set against Shiratorizawa. Against all odds, they have taken down the eagle. They are going to nationals.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi walk out before the awards ceremony. Oikawa doesn’t regret coming, but watching the match has left a bad taste in his mouth.

The image of Kageyama standing on the other side of the net yesterday, on the victor’s side, won’t leave his mind. Oikawa promises himself that he is going to beat Kageyama the next time around. He’ll train more. Harder. His serve will be more accurate. His tosses will be faster. Oikawa will win. The thought is a steady drumbeat in his head.

The smell starts very subtly, the barest whiff. Oikawa glances over at Iwaizumi, who doesn’t seem to notice it. As a beta, Iwaizumi’s nose isn’t as perceptive as Oikawa’s, and the smell is faint. Even so, it almost stops Oikawa in his tracks. It’s a lovely, enticing smell, like milk bread baking in his mother’s oven; but also with a wild, powerful aspect to it, bringing to mind the overgrown woods near his grandmother’s house, or the top of a craggy, windswept mountain. He breathes it in, interrogating the scent. There’s something else there, too, just the barest hint – something _seductive._ The combination is exhilarating, and Oikawa is already hooked. He lifts his head and surreptitiously sniffs, trying to get a better sense of where it’s coming from.

As they walk, the scent grows stronger, and finally Iwaizumi notices it, too. He doesn’t seem entranced by it, though, and he merely turns to look quizzically at Oikawa. Oikawa understands the question. Why is there an omega scent permeating the downstairs labyrinth of Shiratorizawa? Because there’s no doubt that’s what it is. An omega.

Iwaizumi follows as Oikawa picks up the pace. Oikawa finds himself slipping off his coat and unbuttoning the top of his shirt. He wonders why they keep the temperature so high down here. 

With each step, the smell grows stronger and Oikawa moves with more certainty, first down one corridor, then another.

It’s not until he stops in front of a closed bathroom door that he realizes that he has outpaced Iwaizumi, who is trotting to catch up with him.

He swings the bathroom door open impatiently, seeking out the source of the tantalizing aroma.

As the door opens and he takes a step in, a wave of smell almost knocks him over. It’s so strong! His eyes water, and he stumbles against the bathroom wall, breathing hard. It takes him a moment to collect himself, to even be able to take in the scene in front of him.

Iwaizumi doesn’t seem to be affected in the same way, and he’s the one who runs to the body propped up against the wall, its head bowed.

‘Hey,” Iwaizumi says, kneeling down. “Are you okay?”

He lifts up the guy’s head, which is matted with sweat.

“ _Holy shit!_ ” cries Iwaizumi. “It’s Kageyama!”


	4. Chapter 4

Oikawa’s head shoots up. _What?_ _Kageyama_??!!

“Kageyama-kun!” says Iwaizumi, squeezing his shoulder. Kageyama doesn’t respond.

Iwaizumi looks over to Oikawa, who is still leaning on his knees, breathing heavily. “He’s burning up,” he says, then turns his attention back to Kageyama.

“Kageyama. Can you hear me? Are you alright?” It’s only then that he notices the open bottle and the pills scattered on the floor. He lifts up the bottle and reads the prescription.

“Shit! Kageyama! Tell me! How many pills do you need to take right now?”

Kageyama gives a faint moan and cracks open one eye.

“Iwai- Iwaizumi-san?” he croaks.

“How many pills do you need to take right now?” Iwaizumi repeats. He transfers the bottle and a pill to one hand. With the other, he pulls out his phone. He curses under his breath when he sees that there’s no reception down here.

At the sight of the pink pill, Kageyama recoils and lets out a faint moan.

“Okay,” says Iwaizumi, trying to speak in a calm voice. “No pills.We'll go find someone from your team. You hang tight. You’re going to be alright.”

“No!” Kageyama clutches feebly at him. “No! They can’t – they can’t know!”

“We have to tell someone,” says Iwaizumi helplessly.

“Only- only Suga-s-s-san!” pleads Kageyama.

“Okay,” says Iwaizumi soothingly. “We’ll get Sugawara-san.”

With no phone reception, one of them will have to leave. He looks to Oikawa, but it is obvious that the panting, weak-kneed wreck that is Oikawa will be of little use. Except perhaps for one task.

“You!” he says sharply to Oikawa. “Oikawa! Guard the door. Make sure no one else comes in. Do you understand?”

Oikawa doesn’t answer.

Iwaizumi deepens his voice.

“Shittykawa!”

Oikawa blinks down at him.

“Guard the door. Do you understand?”

Oikawa nods.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t let anyone in!”

Iwaizumi glances worriedly between the two of them, but there's no help for it. He's got to go. He takes off running down the hall. 

Oikawa stands up slowly. It feels like both his body and mind are sinking into wet cement. Kageyama – an omega! He can’t wrap his head around it, despite the evidence in front of him. Even through the confusing miasma weighing him down, he feels a burst of reluctant admiration. For Kageyama to have played so well, as an omega (!), at the start of a such a severe heat, no less. It’s impressive.

Kageyama is obviously in bad shape now, though. His skin is a dusky red, and he’s clutching his stomach as though in agony. Every few seconds, he emits a low, horrible groan, and his limbs twitch spasmodically.

It’s a pathetic sight.

“Tobio-chan,” grunts Oikawa.

Kageyama’s eyes fly open at the sound of that familiar, hated voice. He is horrified. Even through the heat and pain, he knows it is truly awful to have Oikawa, _Oikawa_ of all people, see him in this state. He turns his head in shame, clawing weakly at the wall. Those stupid, ever-present omega tears prick his eyes, and he squeezes tight against them. He can’t let Oikawa see him _cry_ on top of everything else.

But the pain undoes him. It’s terrible, this pain, slashing his belly in two. He groans once more and curls up against it, tears tracking down his cheeks.

The movement upsets his balance, and he starts to slide towards the floor.

Two swift steps and Oikawa is crouched at his side, putting out a hand to stop his fall. 

The effect is instantaneous. As soon as Oikawa’s hand touches Kageyama’s arm, the pain decreases. A soothing coolness radiates out from Oikawa’s skin, sending waves of relief through Kageyama’s body.

Kageyama sags back into the wall, his face smoothing out.

It feels like a miracle, to have the stabbing pain lessen. 

Oikawa can evidently tell what happened, because he deliberately lays his other hand on Kageyama’s arm.

Kageyama lets out a choked sob as the pain dies down even further. He doesn’t fight it when Oikawa sits down and very gently slides Kageyama’s body in front of his so that Kageyama is sitting in the V of Oikawa’s outstretched legs. Kageyama’s sweaty temple rests against Oikawa’s jaw. In this position, Oikawa can run his hands freely up and down Kageyama’s bare arms. Every point of contact is like a numbing analgesic.

Kageyama sighs, a long, relieved sigh. As he breathes back in, he realizes that another smell is rising around him: not his own cloying, stinging scent, but a comforting smell, of cinnamon, and vanilla, with a spicy, nutty undercurrent to it. It’s the most wonderful thing he’s every smelled in his life, and he wants more of it. The smell is coming from… Oikawa. It’s rolling off Oikawa in thick waves, wrapping around Kageyama in the most pleasant, encouraging way. 

He frowns slightly. The smell is _Oikawa’s?_ Something in the back of his mind is puzzled, even appalled by this thought. But right in front of him is the overwhelmingly reassuring presence, and all he can do is sink into it.

Almost involuntarily, he turns his head to find the source of the marvelous smell. He scrabbles around, Oikawa’s hands supporting him, until he is sitting sideways across Oikawa’s lap, his face buried in Oikawa’s neck. It’s an awkward position, but here he can breathe in concentrated doses of the lovely smell. Sitting like this, his face jammed into the crook of Oikawa’s shoulder, Kageyama doesn’t have any pain at all.

He feels Oikawa nuzzling into his own neck. Kageyama drops his arm, opening the space up further to him.

Oikawa is talking softly, saying things Kageyama can barely hear, but the low, steady murmur is like a reassuring balm to his brain. He intermittently catches the warm, caressing phrases: “Sweet Tobio-chan… I’m here… it’s alright... brave Tobio-chan.” Then Oikawa starts alternating the words with light, feathery kisses up and down his neck.

Kageyama feels himself drifting off on the wonderful, healing coolness that is carrying him effortlessly away from the pain and heat that were so recently eating him alive.

The bathroom door slams open.

Oikawa’s arms tighten possessively around Kageyama, and he glares at the intruders. Kageyama shivers and whimpers, burrowing even more deeply into Oikawa.

Iwaizumi curses when he sees them.

“Oikawa Tooru,” he commands, forcing as much threat into his voice as he can. The strength of it breaks through Oikawa’s haze. His glasses have fallen off, and his vision is blurred, but even so he recognizes the familiar shape of Iwaizumi’s hair. Oikawa’s hold on Kageyama slackens slightly as he peers around, confused. 

Before Oikawa realizes what’s happening, Sugawara and Daichi have swooped in and torn Kageyama from his grasp. Kageyama sobs loudly at the loss of the soothing contact, but in his weakened state, he is no match for their combined strength. In the blink of an eye, they are out the door and away.

Two seconds later, Oikawa catches up. He gives a roar that raises the hairs on the back of Iwaizumi’s neck. When Oikawa leaps to his feet, Iwaizumi involuntarily jumps back. He’s never seen Oikawa like this: a ravening monster with his hackles raised and his eyes giving off sparks. Iwaizumi doesn’t know how the hell he’s going to hold him back, but he has to do it somehow. Two seconds is enough to get Kageyama out of the bathroom, but Sugawara and Daichi will need more time than that to get him far enough away.

Asahi, frozen halfway out the door, sidles cautiously back into the room. It’s plain that Iwaizumi will need assistance.

Iwaizumi shoots him a grateful look. He knows how tired Asahi must be after that grueling match, but he’s too desperate to be generous.

They each grab an arm and yank Oikawa backwards, slamming him up against the wall. Even though it’s two against one, it takes everything they have to push him down into a sitting position, then face-down on the floor. Iwaizumi winds up sitting on Oikawa’s back, Asahi on his legs, holding him down until the ventilation system pumps the last of the smell out of the bathroom.

Eventually, Oikawa stops thrashing about underneath them, and his breathing slows to a normal rate.

At last he says, with icy calm, “Please get off me.”

They both scramble up and stand back, watching him warily. Oikawa rises clumsily to his feet. His hair is a mess, his previously impeccable clothes are disheveled, and his face is a blank mask.

He bows stiffly to Asahi and says, in a cold, distant voice, “My apologies, Asahi-san, for such a… regrettable display. Thank you for your assistance.”

He turns and performs the same stiff bow to Iwaizumi. “And to you as well, Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi stares at him in shock as Oikawa fumbles for his glasses and his coat and stalks out of the bathroom.

As he walks down the hallway, Oikawa is burning with shame. The humiliation! To have acted in such an appalling manner – _fawning_ over Kageyama, _fighting_ over Kageyama. Kageyama, the evil genius, always nipping at Oikawa’s heels, trying to usurp his place.

To have touched Kageyama, held him, _kissed him_! With such soft tenderness! And then to have others bear witness to his own mortifying behavior. Even - even _Iwa-chan_. It's intolerable. He is afraid he will combust with shame.

Then he recollects Kageyama’s smell, and he has to stop for a moment. He puts a hand against the wall to brace himself. Even the _memory_ of that smell is disturbingly alluring. _Fuck_.

The next morning, Kageyama is doing his best to shut out his own memories as he submits to the tongue-lashing the doctor is giving him.

It is well-deserved, and he hangs his head in guilt.

“And I’m not certain I trust you enough to continue on suppressants after this.”

Kageyama’s head snaps up and he stares at the doctor with fear in his eyes.

“Ah, I thought that would get your attention. Yes, you heard me. This is not a game, young man. You could die from this type of careless disregard for your health.”

Kageyama tries to look suitably cowed, sinking into his hospital bed.

The doctor’s expression softens. “Well, it all turned out far luckier than you deserved. Your teammates rescued you, you say?” He peers sharply at Kageyama. “They are to be commended. Their quick action saved you from what likely could have been a much worse outcome. " He adds, with studied casualness. "Were there any alphas in that group?”

Kageyama stiffens. This is skirting dangerous territory. He schools his features into what he hopes is an expression of innocent ignorance.

“Maybe?” he answers in as weak and child-like a voice as he can manage, speaking as if such a thought has never crossed his mind. “Um, at least, I think some of them are. I don’t pay much attention to - to that.”

The doctor looks at him shrewdly but doesn’t press the point. He sighs heavily. “You are indeed an unusually lucky young man. I am willing to give you one more chance because your prior record is exemplary. But we’ll increase the doctor’s visits to every week for now. And any hint that you are not being one hundred percent compliant, and we give up on this plan.”

He finally leaves, after many promises on Kageyama’s part to never miss another dose. Kageyama breathes a sigh of relief. _He can still play_.

However, with the doctor gone, there’s nothing to keep him from his own uncomfortable thoughts. Because not even the knowledge of their win – they’re going to nationals! – can extinguish the abominable memory of the hallway bathroom.

While some of the previous afternoon’s events are a blur to Kageyama, those involving Oikawa are, unfortunately, crystal clear. Every time they rise up in his mind, he burns with shame. The humiliation! To have acted in such an appalling manner – sitting on _Oikawa_ , of all people! Oikawa, the evil scorpion, with his deadly sting.

To have been touched by Oikawa, to have been held by him, to have been _kissed_ by him! With such soft tenderness! And then to have others bear witness to his own mortifying behavior. It's intolerable. Every time he thinks of it, he is afraid he will combust with shame.

And what if… what if Oikawa _tells_ people? About how Kageyama was melting into him like a – like a damsel in distress? Kageyama buries his head in his pillow and groans aloud.

Then he recollects Oikawa’s smell, and he bites his lip. Even the _memory_ of that smell is disturbingly alluring. _Fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this veered off in a bit of an unplanned direction, so it will probably take me some time to re-map/write the rest of it. many thanks for reading!  
> cheers


	5. Chapter 5

This time around, Kageyama is back on his feet in no time. He’s ordered to rest for a few days, which he thinks is way overkill, so he mopes around with his volleyball and tries to catch up on homework.

On the third day, he receives a letter in the mail.

_Dear Kageyama Tobio,_

_We are very sorry that you became ill over the weekend. Best wishes for your health and a speedy recovery. Please let us know if we can assist you in any way. Also, do not be concerned that either of us will discuss the events that occurred with anyone who was not present._

_Congratulations on your victory._

_Regards,_

_Iwaizumi Hajime_

_Oikawa Tooru_

He can tell that Iwaizumi wrote the letter and carefully printed both names, because the outside of the envelope has Iwaizumi’s return address in the same writing. It’s no guarantee that Oikawa won’t talk, but it’s a nice gesture on Iwaizumi’s part. He’s also appreciative of the generosity of the congratulations, at a time when the sting of defeat is probably so fresh in Iwaizumi’s mind.

“I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused, Sagawura-san. Daichi-san. Asahi-san,” he bows low to each in turn.

“It’s no problem, Kageyama,” says Daichi. “We’re glad you’re okay. Please let us know next time you’re feeling sick, okay? We’re always here to help.”

Sugawara pulls him aside.

“Have you spoken with Oikawa-san?” he asks quietly.

“No,” says Kageyama, blushing furiously. The shame is like a flame that is going to burn him to cinders.

“It might be a good idea,” says Sugawara quietly, non-judgmental. “The connection between you two was… impressive.”

If possible, the blush gets even deeper.

“Thank you, Suga-san, for all your help,” says Kageyama in a stilted voice, hoping to convey that he has no interest in discussing the matter further.

Sugawara is not put off. Rather, he looks at Kageyama searchingly. “Are you sure, Kageyama? If it would help, I, or perhaps Daichi, could act as an… intermediary on your behalf?”

“No!” he almost yells, horrified by the idea. He adds a hasty, “Thank you, Suga-san,” bows, and bolts into practice.

Once inside, the embarrassing conversations are over. The energy in the gym is palpable, and everyone on the team has something much more important to focus on: winning nationals.

.

Kageyama has been invited to the All-Japan Youth Camp at the National Training Center. It is a significant honor, and he’s excited to be there. It’s the second day, and he’s starting to get to know the other guys.

They’re in the locker room when Sakusa walks over and says, “I haven’t watched the video yet, but how did you beat Shiratorizawa? Was Wakatoshi-kun not at his best?”

“Did it have anything to do with that omega incident?” Broccoli #2 butts in. “My brother told me about that. He said something about them having to air out the whole building, and basically everyone left before the awards ceremony.”

“Dude!” says Komori. “Wow. Is that how it went down? How come nothing about that was in the news or anything?”

Broccoli #2 shrugs. “Privacy reasons, probably.”

“That’s crazy, man,” says Komori. “Omegas.” He shakes his head. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em. Right?”

There are a few appreciative chuckles from the other players. Kageyama leans over to tie his shoes, praying to all the gods that exist in the world that he is not giving off any revealing scent.

“We had an omega on our middle school team,” Miya Atsumu adds thoughtfully.

“No way!” exclaims Komori, his thick eyebrows shooting almost up to his hairline in astonishment. “I didn’t know omegas could play volleyball!”

“Shut up, you idiot. Of course they can. Omegas are regular people,” Broccoli #2 interjects.

Kageyama realizes that he is pulling his laces so tight, they might break. He forces his hands to relax.

“Well, okay. Maybe middle school volleyball,” allows Komori. “But _high school_ volleyball? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

There are murmurs of agreement. Kageyama breathes slowly in and out. It wouldn’t do to call attention to himself with an outburst. He keeps his head bent, taking all the time in the world to do up his shoes. How long is this stupid conversation going to last, anyway?

“What happened to him?” asks Komori curiously. “The player?

“Good question.” Miya pauses, thinking. “He stopped coming at some point. I didn’t really pay much attention. Hmmm. Yeah, that’s right. I remember now. Last time I saw him, he was hanging all over some alpha. Probably found something else to occupy his time.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Like I said,” Komori leers. “Omegas. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.”

“Speaking of omegas,” says Broccoli #2. “Isn’t there an omega cheerleading camp going on here now, too?”

“Yeah! I read about that in our information packet,” agrees Komori. “They’ve gotta be around here somewhere. They could be in the next gym over. Should we go look? We’ve got a half hour before practice officially starts.”

_No_ screams Kageyama silently. But everyone else agrees excitedly. The thought of viewing some athletic omegas is clearly titillating enough to spike their interest, and Kageyama doesn’t dare stand out by refusing.

It’s even worse than he thought it would be. The omegas are actually really good – they’ve obviously trained in both gymnastics and dance. But even though the moves they’re doing are impressive, it’s plainly a sex show. They’re wearing skimpy, shiny costumes, and everything glitters. Even with the stiff, wide smiles plastered on their faces, they are all extremely attractive. Every one of them, if they had on a little more clothing, would blend right in on the shiny cover of _Omega Athletes_.

The other guys, giggling as they take turns peeking out from behind the stands, can’t get enough. 

“That guy on the end. Holy shit! Look at his ass!” says Komori.

“Stop drooling,” says Miya disgustedly, but his own eyes rake excitedly over the sight before him.

“Check out the fourth girl from the left.” Komori again. “Man, what an incredible pair of tits. Do you think those could possibly be real?” 

“Who cares?” Kageyama is shocked to hear Sakusa say in a breathy voice.

“I wonder if any of them will go into heat this week," says Miya idly. “It happened last year. Even coach got a little sweaty once that smell got into the air. They had to delay afternoon practice until it was all cleared out.”

Kageyama is appalled to see all of them go a little glassy-eyed at the idea of one of the prancing, juicy omegas in front of them going into heat.

He grimaces.

Seeing it, Komori grins and drawls, “What about you, Kageyama? Anyone here catch _your_ eye?”

Kageyama puts on the biggest scowl he can muster, but before he can say anything, Miya says in a silky voice, “Kageyama is too much of a goody two-shoes to fancy omegas. I bet he’s never even kissed one.” His eyes hold a challenge.

At this, everyone turns to look at Kageyama.

He is suddenly in a spotlight. An uncomfortable one. There’s something about having all these keyed-up, horny alphas surrounding him, staring at him, their interest aroused, that feels almost… _dangerous_.

Komori actually leans in towards Kageyama, his eyes avid, his lips parted. 

“I have too kissed one,” lies Kageyama angrily, shoving Komori away.

The tension snaps. “Okay, okay,” says Komori, backing away with his hands up in a mollifying gesture.

“C’mon,” says Broccoli #2. “We better get back, or we’re gonna have to run laps.”

Kageyama takes a final look at the omegas, all still wearing their wide, fixed smiles, with their makeup glittering under the gym lights. He feels like throwing up.

Kageyama declines any further omega-watching trips, and the week otherwise is fantastic. He likes playing with these guys. They’re fast, strong, and can plant the ball where they want, seemingly effortlessly. His own play improves significantly, even in the short time he’s there. Oikawa, and being an omega, and the horrible _thing_ that happened in the Shiratorizawa bathroom, start to fade from his mind.

On the first day he’s back with his own team, he arrives for practice at the same time Hinata does. After they’ve raced to the gym entrance, and Kageyama has lost, he asks, “Hinata?”

“Hmm?” Hinata says. They’re both sitting cross-legged on the ground, still panting from the exertion.

“Remember when you, uh, smelled me? Right after I came back, after being in the hospital?”

“You mean right after you turned into an omega?” says Hinata, leaning back on his hands.

“I didn’t _turn into_ an omega. What kind of moron are you?”

“Yes you did! You didn’t use to be an omega.”

“Yes I was, you idiot! I was born that way! And I told you not to say that stupid word!” Kageyama calms himself. He didn’t start this conversation to fight. Hinata has something he wants – information. “But… when you smelled me, did I - _do I_ – smell different?” _Do I smell like an omega?_

The fear has been growing since watching the omegas at the training camp. He hadn’t even thought about it before then. _He_ hasn’t smelled any difference in himself, except of course during those two awful heats. But what if he can’t smell himself, but everyone else can? The thought gives him chills, and not happy ones. What if they all knew, at the training camp, and were making fun of him the whole time? No, it’s not possible. But is it?

Hinata looks up at him. He can tell that Kageyama isn’t joking.

Hinata crawls over and this time Kageyama doesn’t stop him. He sticks his nose right into Kageyama’s neck and sniffs deeply.

Hinata is always in Kageyama’s space, jumping in front of him, bumping into him, tripping over him. But this feels way different. Hinata is practically in his lap, and it’s so… invasive. Kageyama doesn’t like it. He grits his teeth and resists the urge to stiff-arm Hinata away from him. After all, Hinata’s doing him a favor.

“Nah,” Hinata finally says, leaning back on his heels. “I don’t think so. I wouldn’t have known about that-” here Hinata cups his mouth with this hands and stage whispers, “ _thing_ , if you hadn’t gotten sick.”

Kageyama closes his eyes and his whole body unclenches. The relief is enormous.

“But why would it bother you if you did smell different?” asks Hinata curiously. “Even though you’re an omega, you’re still the same scary person. You still do tosses with perfect height and positioning. Every time.”

Hinata doesn’t understand. But then, Kageyama thinks, Hinata doesn’t have to. He’s comfortably situated in his alpha skin, he has no worries about _his_ secondary gender. _He’s_ not going to be ogled at by gangs of horny alphas. _He’s_ not going to have heats. Anger and frustration flare in Kageyama again, and he lets some of it spurt out onto Hinata.

“Shut up, you nitwit. What did I say about calling me that in public!”

“You asked me!”

“I didn’t ask you to shout it out. What if the rest of the team was here?”

Kageyama sweeps his hand out in a wide gesture.

It almost smacks Tanaka in the knee. Tanaka steps back to avoid it, bumping into Tsukishima. Who sidesteps and knocks into Sugawara. Who is standing next to Daichi. And Nishinoya.

“What happened? Is Kagayama finally talking about being an _omega_?” Nishinoya says in a carrying whisper.

Kageyama can hear Yamaguchi’s unmistakable intake of breath from somewhere out of sight.

Heat rises in his face – he must be as red as a tomato.

“I’ll kill you!” he roars at Hinata, as he scrambles to his knes. Tanaka grabs him by the collar and hauls him back.

“Calm down. We’ve all known since Shiratorizawa,” says Tanaka without preamble.

Kageyama can only gape at him in horror.

“Does – does _everyone_ know?” he asks hoarsely.

“No one outside of our team,” Daichi reassures him.

_And Iwaizumi and Oikawa,_ think Kageyama unhappily to himself.

But Tanaka has his own take on the situation. “Own it, Kageyama! Be the scariest omega volleyball player in Japan! In the world, maybe! The Omega King. Right? You’re going to be the Omega King who wins nationals!” He’s grinning at Kageyama with his crazy-ass grin. 

“Tanaka-san!” whines Hinata. “He doesn’t like people calling him that.”

“That’s enough out here,” says Daichi, putting an end to the discussion. “Time to practice. Or does no one else want to win nationals?”

As Kageyama slowly rises to his feet, he rolls that around in his head. He finds himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to be the Omega King who wins nationals.

“Kageyama-kun,” a voice calls, and Kageyama turns.

“Iwaizumi-s –“ and his voice dies in his throat. Iwaizumi is towing a clearly reluctant Oikawa behind him.

He turns to leave.

“Kageyama. Please,” says Iwaizumi.

Kageyama sighs and slowly turns back. He is undoubtedly in Iwaizumi’s debt, and owes him at least the courtesy of his attention.

“Iwaizumi-san,” he says, bowing low. He bobs a short, half-bow in Oikawa’s direction.

Iwaizumi looks meaningfully at Oikawa, who lifts his head to the side, nose in the air, arms crossed in front of him. 

Iwaizumi decks him across the back of the head.

“Iwa-chan, ouch! Stop picking on me!”  
  
“Then start acting your age, Trashykawa. You’re supposed to be the adult here. And you agreed to this!”

“Under duress!” mutters Oikawa.

“Kageyama,” says Iwaizumi, ignoring him. “Would you do Oikawa the honor of talking with him? He has promised me three minutes of conversation. If that is acceptable to you, of course.”

Kageyama feels a flash of anger. Oikawa has to be cajoled into talking with him for a mere three minutes? He presses his lips together. For Iwaizumi, he will.

He nods.

“I’m putting the timer on,” says Iwaizumi warningly to Oikawa. “A full three minutes.” He steps back, out of earshot but within sight.

“How are you feeling, Tobio-chan?” asks Oikawa carelessly. His eyes flit past Kageyama, not looking directly at him.

Kageyama scowls.

“Well, if you won’t talk to me,” Oikawa huffs, turning away.

Before he can take another step, a volleyball bounces off the back of his head. 

“Ow!” he cries out, eyes shooting daggers at Iwaizumi.

“You have two minutes left!” Iwaizumi calls out loudly.

Oikawa rubs the back of his head angrily. Kageyama’s not sure that’s why his cheeks are flushed, though.

Kageyama frowns. It's strange to see Oikawa so flustered. But maybe Oikawa is embarrassed, too. It’s an interesting thought. Kageyama has a different perspective after the training camp. Now he’s played with guys who are at least as scary if not scarier than Oikawa. Oikawa has a sharp tongue, for sure, and a wicked serve. But Kageyama has beaten him once, and he’s got his sights on other targets now.

That doesn’t mean Oikawa’s barbs won’t hurt, though. He steels himself for one now. Oikawa is sure to say something about weak, pathetic, omega Kageyama.

But Oikawa doesn’t.

“The score is one-one, Kageyama. I’m going to beat you next time we play against one another. Don’t get cocky.” 

Kageyama stares at him. Is it really possible that Oikawa is going to tiptoe around the giant elephant squashed between them, sucking out all the oxygen? That Oikawa is too _afraid_ to address it, what happened between them?

Well, if that’s the way he’s going to play it, Kageyama is perfectly happy to go along with it. If he never has to talk about the whole bathroom debacle ever again, he’ll be happy. 

And now he’s got something of the upper hand, too, because, by avoiding the subject, Oikawa is essentially admitting that he’s too much of a wimp to talk about it. Kageyama is too much of a wimp, also, of course, but, as Iwaizumi said, Oikawa is supposed to be the adult here. And he’s the fucking alpha!

Kageyama smiles inside, which means the scowl on his face deepens.

“It’s not being cocky if it’s the truth. I’m going to beat you again. And again. Every time I meet you on the court.”

“How is that not getting cocky, Tobio-chan?”

But Kageyama has put his time in. He doesn’t owe Iwaizumi anything else. He walks towards Iwaizumi, Oikawa spluttering behind him, and bows. “Thank you, Iwaizumi-san, for your letter. And for… helping me.” It’s as close as any of them has gotten to mentioning the _incident_ , and he feels Oikawa stiffen behind him at the words.

Kageyama now turns towards Oikawa. He inclines his body slightly, hardly even a bow, and then starts to walk away. He has the unnerving sensation that he has, incredibly, come out on top once again.

He hears Oikawa say, “Did you see how rude he was, Iwa-chan? That’s the last time I listen to you.”

As the two of them walk in the opposite direction, Iwaizumi looks searchingly at Oikawa.

“You didn’t talk about it at all, did you, Wimpykawa?”

Oikawa’s face settles into a scowl that could rival one of Kageyama’s.

Iwaizumi sighs. “You’re going to have to talk about it with him eventually, you know.”

“And why, pray tell, is that?”

“Do you really want me to spell it out for you?”

“Hmmmph.”

“Well then, I will. That’s not the kind of connection that just… disappears, it’s too str-“

“Wasn’t my “Hmmmph” enough to tell you that I don’t want to discuss this unsavory topic any further with you?” interrupts Oikawa. “I thought you were better at reading me than that.”

“Are you sure you w-“

“Hmmph,” says Oikawa once more, his eyes flashing. A clear “Back off” warning. Iwaizumi, remembering Oikawa’s cold, distant voice saying, “And to you as well, Iwaizumi-san,” bites his cheek to stop the next words from coming out. Instead he says, “Fine, Trashykawa. Have it your way. But don’t come crying to me later.”

Later that day, as Kageyama approaches his gym, he is surprised to see Oikawa lazing against the wall.

Two meetings in one day! Oikawa apparently has more to say.

He stalks up to Kageyama and, with a frown on his face, speaks quickly and quietly, as though rushing to finish an unpleasant task.

“That day, at Shiratorizawa.”

“Yes?” says Kageyama and he is glad his voice is steady. Oikawa _isn’t_ too much of a wimp, after all. Well, then Kageyama isn't either. He wills his heart to slow down. He reminds himself that that day meant nothing. It was all hormones, and they’re being controlled now, with drugs. He has nothing to fear from Oikawa’s presence.

“That day meant nothing,” says Oikawa.

While this exactly echoes Kageyama’s own sentiments, hearing the words come out of Oikawa’s mouth is unexpectedly like a punch to the gut. Kageyama's mind reels. Inexplicably, he can't help wondering how Oikawa could say such a thing. After whispering all those sweet, soft, loving things into Kageyama’s ear and everything!

Oikawa frowns slightly at Kageyama's expression, as though it had not even occurred to him that his words would hurt Kageyama. Then his face smooths out into an expression of smug superiority; he is plainly thinking that being rejected by Oikawa would of course crush Kageyama. Fury rises in Kageyama. Of all the arrogant, egotistical assholes.

“It meant nothing to me either. Less than nothing. I would never want to be with you. I wouldn’t want to be with you if you were the last person on earth!”

Oikawa’s eyes darken, and he draws himself up.

“You stupid little twerp-” he starts to say. 

But then something flutters to Kageyama’s right, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Sugawara slide into place next to him.

Another rustle, and Daichi is standing to his left.

He turns slightly, and Asahi is standing behind him. Hinata runs in front of Kageyama, forcing Oikawa to take a step back.

It’s five to one, and Oikawa is nothing if not pragmatic. He’s beaten, and he knows it.

“I see Karasuno has improved its blocks,” he says with a mocking grin. “Goodbye, Tobio-chan. Thank you for the _meaningful_ chat. Until next time.”

Kageyama wants to have the last word. He wants to say something scathing, something that will leave Oikawa bent over and gasping from the force of it. But those kinds of verbal pyrotechnics have never been his strength. By the time his thoughts coalesce into anything resembling speech, Oikawa is long gone.

He’s grateful that, as the knot of Karausno players dissolves around him, no one except Daichi says anything, and all he says is, “We’d better get started with practice.”


	6. Chapter 6

The spring nationals tournament finally rolls around.

They arrive late the day before the first match, so instead of checking in to the inn, they go directly to the arena. They don’t want to miss any of their allotted, already-brief practice time. Security is tight in the arena, and, just like at an airport, all their belongings are inspected. Kageyama watches uncomfortably as one of the security guards unzips the clear, Ziploc bag holding his toiletries and takes out every item, including his prescription bottle. His discomfort grows as she carefully reads the label, then motions one of her colleagues over to confer with her.

He’s briefly distracted by the sight of some other players up ahead – was that Miya Atsumu from the training camp? By the time his eyes are back on his stuff, the contents from the bag are spread out all over the bin, including the prescription bottle, standing upright and visible for anyone to read. He hastily packs everything back into his bag and rushes to catch up with his team. 

The practice goes reasonably well, but it’s far too short a time for them to get used to the venue. He wonders what it will look like tomorrow, when the stands are full.

But it turns out that their first match, against Tsubikihara, will take place in the side arena.

The match starts poorly. They quickly lose four points in a row. Even though it’s smaller than the main arena, the space is still huge compared to their gym. The tall ceilings throw everyone’s perspective and timing off. Kageyama’s timing is off worst of all. He fumbles toss after toss. 

“Shake it off,” says Daichi, after the latest disaster. 

But the next toss is off, too. They only gain a point due to a careless error on the part of Tsubikihara’s middle blocker – luck was on their side.

But Kageyama doesn’t want to rely on luck. Why should he have to? He has talent and determination in spades, and he’s worked his ass off to get here. The whole team has. They’re here to cash in on the blood, sweat and tears they’ve poured into volleyball over the past year: to cash in and win.

He’s walking up to serve when one of the announcer’s voices filters through his consciousness.

“First-year Kageyama Tobio, serving for Karasuno. He was a participant in the prestigious national training center camp and has a strong track record, but he hasn’t shown much of that strength here today.”

Announcer #2 follows this up with, “It’s incredible that an omega could make it this far, but he’s clearly having a tough time now that he’s in the big leagues.” This is said smoothly enough, but there’s an obvious pause after the words are out, as Announcer #2 allows the statement to reverberate throughout the arena. He knows he’s just set off a bomb, and he obviously wants it to have maximum impact. 

Time stands still as the words echo in Kageyama’s ears.

There is a rumbling murmur in the stands. It swells, overpowering even the cheering and the music. _An omega player? How could such a thing be possible? An omega? Kageyama Tobio? The Karasuno setter? An omega? An_ omega _!_

Kageyama forces his feet to keep moving behind the white line. Turning around, he sees the stunned faces of both his own and the opposing team. The whistle blows and he takes a running leap. He is trying as hard as he can to concentrate, to focus only on the ball in his hands and the court in front of him.

Too low – it hits the net. Dammit! 

Announcer #1 is practically purring with pleasure as he says, “This kind of pressure is particularly difficult for omegas to handle. It’s not surprising he’s crumbling under it. Ah well. Another promising career ended by an unfortunate birthright.”

Coach immediately calls a time-out.

“This is nationals,” he tells the team. ”We’re swimming with the sharks here, and they’ve got teeth. No matter what they throw at you, on the court or off of it, you have to keep your focus on the game. I don’t know how that information got out, but it’s not relevant to this moment. Remember why you’re here – to win. The only thing you should be thinking about is how to get the next point.”

“An omega, eh?” leers Teradomari, Tsubikihara’s wing spiker, through the net. “How about we meet up after the match for some extra practice? Looks like you need it.”

Kageyama gives him a withering stare before he thinks to turn his face away. Ignore him. Focus!

Hinata is glaring at Kageyama. _Toss to me_ , his eyes are saying.

Kageyama feels warmth flow through him. Hinata is _always_ there, always ready to spike, always ready to try again. He’s never afraid. He doesn’t care about Kageyama being an omega. He wants a good toss so he can spike.

It’s about time Kageyama gave him one.

The next quick lands. The Tsubikihara players look like they have no idea what hit them. Announcer # 2, acting as though he was not rejoicing in Kageyama’s failures only minutes earlier, now joyously sings his praises. 

“And there it is, Karasuno’s deadliest weapon. Their startling quick attack. I guess this omega has fangs after all, eh? Let’s see if Tsubikihara is strong enough to punch back.”

The game gets rougher. The Tsubikihara players target Kageyama relentlessly: they pile on the blockers, serve at him repeatedly, worry his flanks at every turn.

But Kageyama doesn’t break. He’s back in his groove, and, if anything, this treatment only hardens his resolve. He glances back at Tanaka, who gives him the faintest of winks. Yeah, that’s right. He’s the Omega King who’s going to win nationals. And now everyone else will know it, too.

When Kageyama next steps up to serve, he is greeted with wolf whistles and cat calls from the audience.

“You like to play hard, omega?"

“You can serve me anytime, sweetheart.”

"Yeah, serve _me,_ omega!"

"Some nice balls over here for you to play with, darlin',"

Kageyama closes his ears to the noise. It has nothing to do with what’s right in front of him. He jumps up, and it’s his best serve of the day. Tusbikihara is barely able to receive it.  


By the second set, Karasuno is a well-oiled machine, and they easily win the match.They’re advancing to the next round.

After changing, the team gathers at the entrance to wait for their transportation back to the inn.

“I’m going to buy a T-shirt. Want to come, Kageyama?” Hinata asks.

“No.”

He’s sitting on the bench, angrily thinking – _how did they find out?_ – when he sees a familiar head of flyaway brown hair walking down the hall.

What is _Oikawa_ doing here?

Kageyama frowns. The wheels turn clumsily in his brain. Oikawa is _here_. Kageyama’s secondary gender was leaked. Oikawa _knows_ Kageyama’s secondary gender.

Kageyama leaps to his feet. _Oikawa_ did it! He’s the one who told! Oikawa, the attention-seeker, the vengeful child, sacrificing Kageyama for his own self-serving ends. 

He runs up to Oikawa, stopping him in his tracks. “You - _you_ told!”

“Tobio-chan, it’s a pleasure to see you as well.”

“ _You_ leaked that I was an omega!”

“ _What_?” Oikawa looks genuinely shocked. His eyes glitter. “You should think before you casually throw out such disgusting insults, Tobio-chan.” He adds, hotly, “I would _never_ do something like that!”

“Oh,” says Kageyama, nonplussed. Oikawa is plainly telling the truth. “I'm sorry, Oikawa-san.” He turns and walks stiffly away.

Then who was it? Kageyama can’t believe it would have been anyone on his team. But who else could it have been? His eyes light on the security line at the arena entrance. He remembers the guards whispering over his prescription bottle. His things spread out all over the bin, for anyone to see. Of course.

He feels hurt, vulnerable and angry. How dare someone take his private information and share it with the world? He’s too upset to sit down again. He _will_ buy a T-shirt, after all.

However, by the time he collects his money and makes his way to the shop, Hinata and the others have already left the store. Kageyama doesn’t mind. There’s no one else near him, and it’s peaceful, picking his way through the stacks of soft cotton shirts. He can lose himself in choosing the right one. It’s the perfect occupation for his churning, angry mind.

Kageyama is leaning in among the T-shirts when someone slides up next to him.

“Kageyama-kun?” asks a faintly familiar voice.

It’s the wing spiker from Tsubikihara: Teradomari.

Kageyama nods at him but turns back to the shirts. He’s not in the mood for conversation. Teradomari doesn’t take the hint.

“You’re a guy who’s full of surprises, aren’t you?” He’s looking at Kageyama with anger and something that is all too similar to hunger in his eyes. Kageyama is reminded unpleasantly of the players at the training camp watching the omega cheerleaders.

Kageyama scowls. “Excuse him,” he says. “I have to leave.”

Teradomari grabs his wrist. “I couldn’t smell anything earlier. But I wonder how you smell up close and personal, huh, little omega?”

Before Kageyama realizes what’s happening, he’s stepped right up against Kageyama and leaned his face down. His nose actually touches Kageyama’s neck! It feels horrible – slimy and repulsive, like a slug, or a dead fish. 

Kageyama turns away but, “Stay,” orders Teradomari. He says it in the way someone would command their pet, like bringing a dog to heel. The word is pulsing with alpha authority.

Kageyama is shocked to his core. No one has ever spoken to him like that. However, he’s even more shocked to find that he has a compulsion to obey. His legs are thick and heavy and refuse to step away. _What the hell??_ A chill runs up his spine.

Teradomari is still leaning into him when the smell rises up around them. It’s an overbearing pine scent, like room freshener pumping out at 1,000x.

The moment drags on, Teradomari snuffling into his neck, Kageyama not making any headway against him, feeling increasingly frightened. He lifts his heavy, jelly-like arms and tries to push Teradomari off, but they’re too weak. He closes his eyes and tries to think through the fear throbbing through him. How can he escape?

He is giving way to panic when all of the sudden the scent lessens. He hears a scuffling sound and several grunting noises. When he opens his eyes, Teradomari is gone, and Oikawa is standing in front of him.

“Oi-Oikawa-san,” says Kageyama confusedly.

“You idiot!” Oikawa is so angry that the mask has slipped off his face. Kageyama is reminded forcibly of that time in middle school when he had asked Oikawa for help and Oikawa had almost hit him. The expression is the same.

His voice bristles with fury when he says, “What are you doing, wandering around alone without any protection on? When everyone knows you’re an omega? You fool! Don’t you know _anything_?”

Oikawa grabs him by the arm and drags him out of the store and around a bend, into a half-hidden corner.

He takes a deep breath and blows it out before saying, in a quieter but still furious voice, “Would you like me to scent mark you?”

“What?!” cries Kageyama, a hand flying to cover his neck. “No! I’m _never_ going to bond with anyone!”

“It’s not a bond!” Oikawa squeezes his eyes shut and then opens them. “It’ll be gone in a day or two. It’ll just keep the alphas away from you. Temporarily.”

“Oh,” says Kageyama. He’s wondering what the catch is. Why would Oikawa offer to help him?

Oikawa must be able to read what he’s thinking because he says, in a frustrated manner, “It’ll help you focus on volleyball, without any of these… distractions. That’s all. It’s not a big deal.”

Kageyama wavers uncertainly.

“You need to be in top form and win, so that the next time I grind you into the dust, I’ll know that I’ve beaten the best,” adds Oikawa.

This makes more sense to Kageyama.

“Um. Okay, then,” he says, slowly dropping his hand. He’s remembering about scent marking now, from the binder. Oikawa is telling the truth – it’s nothing permanent.

Oikawa nervously bites his lip, then grips Kageyama’s arms. He leans forward, and Kageyama shivers as the warm breath reaches him. When the bare skin of Oikawa’s neck touches his, he can’t help flinching slightly. It’s right where Teradomari’s nose was, and the whole area is hyper-sensitive. 

Oikawa immediately stops and pulls back slightly. Then he presses down once more, gently, at the same time that he lets out an almost inaudible, calming hum. Kageyama can feel the vibrations from the sound transfer from Okiawa’s neck to his own. He inhales slowly as Oikawa carefully rubs their scent glands together. His hair is feather-soft against Kageyama’s skin. A delicate, teasing scent wafts up to Kageyama’s nostrils, the barest hint of the overwhelming smell from the Shiratorizawa bathroom.

Once he’s adequately scented the right side of Kageyama’s neck, Oikawa moves to the left and repeats the process. Kageyama finds himself leaning into Oikawa, his hands braced on Oikawa’s waist.

When he’s done, Oikawa lifts his head. His eyes are only inches from Kageyama’s. Oikawa has a strange expression on his face, one Kageyama can’t read.

Then Oikawa swallows and releases Kageyama’s arms. “When it wears off, one of your teammates can do that again. Perhaps… Chibi-chan.” His voice is still rough, but no longer angry.

“Th-thank you, Oikawa-san,” says Kageyama haltingly. He feels like he’s moving in slow motion while everything around him is spinning past at breakneck speed. He blinks, trying to catch up.

Then the spell cast by this strange interlude breaks, and Oikawa’s usual teasing expression slides back onto his face. He says, tauntingly, “You’ve gone to an awful lot of bother just to prove how much you need me, Tobio-chan.” He looks pointedly down at the hands still on his waist.

Kageyama abruptly yanks them back, scowling. 

“I don’t _need_ you!” he cries out.

“Now, now, Tobio-chan, it’s perfectly fine to express your feelings for me. Let them out.”

Insufferable, conceited Oikawa!

“I – I don’t have _feelings_ for you!” Kageyama protests angrily. He whirls around and stomps ahead.

“Mean Tobio-chan," Oikawa calls out after him.

By the time Kageyama reaches the rest of the Karasuno players, Oikawa is gone, having disappeared into the steadily moving crowd of people exiting the arena.

As Kageyama steps up to the group, Hinata wrinkles his nose.

“What’s that smell?” he complains. “Kageyama-kun, you stink!”

Sugawara gives Hinata a death glare, and Tanaka says, "Shut up!"

Hinata looks from Kageyama to Sugawara to Tanaka, then back again. He shuts his mouth with a snap. Kageyama blushes.

“Are you all right?” Sugawara asks him in a low voice.

Kageyama nods but doesn’t say anything. He’s too tired and confused to try to make sense of the past half hour. All he wants to do is focus on volleyball. He does finger exercises until the bus comes. The familiar, repetitive movements soothe him.

When he takes a shower that night, he is careful to not wash his neck. Once in bed, he pulls the covers over his head so no one can see him, then rubs his neck all over the pillow. In the morning, he stuffs the pillowcase into his gym bag so it doesn’t get washed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is kind of going it's own way (it has veered so far off course from the original plan it's off the map), now entering an interlude of fluffiness. 
> 
> (in other words, this is light on volleyball and heavy on fluff ;-)
> 
> again, please correct me if names/honorifics are off

That night, Sugawara pulls Kageyama aside again.

“You’re going to get them tomorrow, again, you know,” he says. “The insults and the comments.”

“Yes,” says Kageyama.

“This is really a crash-course for you in how to stand up to harassment. Probably not something you wanted to deal with at your first nationals.”

“No.”

“Please don't take this the wrong way. You have intense mental fortitude. But do you want any help coming up with a strategy to specifically block out those kinds of comments?”

“No,” says Kageyama. He doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. He's always been pretty good at blocking out other people’s thoughts, feelings, and words, (and not in a good way), but here that will come in handy.

Their match the next day is in the main arena. After the big reveal yesterday, Kageyama is expecting some extra attention, but it’s worse than he anticipates.

Reporters pounce on him as soon as he’s through the security line. He looks up, blinking, as camera flashes go off right and left. The TV lady sticks her microphone in his face and starts talking very loudly, even though she is standing right next to him.

“How does it feel to be an omega in a sport dominated by alphas?” she asks.

And maybe Kageyama wasn’t expecting this, but others on his team were, because Takeda-sensei immediately stands in front of Kageyama as Coach Ukai grabs him by the shoulder and propels him forward. Daichi and Sugawara move to the other side, blocking Kageyama from view.

As he walks away, he can hear Sensei saying, in his soft voice, “Kageyama Tobio is not available for comments, but I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have after our match today. Thank you for your understanding.” Coach Ukai gives Kageyama’s shoulder a firm squeeze as he pushes him along.

A glance back tells him the woman is looking at him in a predatory way, not unlike a jackal, and he knows that she is just one more thing that he now has to watch out for.

During the official warmup, Miya Atsumu ambles over to their court.

“Tobio-kun,” he says, nodding.

“Miya-san,” answers Kageyama guardedly. The sight of Miya staring hotly at the omega cheerleaders swims up in his mind, and he quickly shakes it out of his head. There’s no place for those kind of thoughts now.

“You better play hard, today. I hate playing against people who suck,” drawls Miya.

“I don’t suck.”

“I’m well aware of that,” says Miya. Kageyama thinks he’s done, but then he adds, “And, uh, Tobio-kun?”

“Yes?” says Kageyama, bracing himself.

“Just ‘cause you’re an omega doesn’t mean I’m not gonna pulverize you.”

It’s only when he feels his body unclenching that Kageyama realizes that he was braced for the worst: Miya’s pity. That there’s no pity to be had feels almost like he’s already won. Now they just have to seal the deal.

“We’re here to win,” he says firmly.

The first set goes well. Despite Miya Atsumu’s killer serve, the oppressive marching band, and the catcalls that filter in every once in awhile, they are able to pull themselves together and work as the seamless Karasuno machine at its best.

The Hinata/Kageyama Special goes off flawlessly, and Kageyama can’t help a flicker of wild satisfaction when he sees the stunned look in Miya Atsumu’s eyes and hears him say, “How fricking cool is that?”

It’s in the second set that they fall apart. Inarikazi slams through their defenses and racks up point after point.

It’s Kageyama’s serve, and they’re way behind.

That’s when the Inarizaki fans starting booing.

“Oooooh, scary omega.”

“Go home, omega,” calls out a loud voice, as the boos increase in resonance.

But Kageyama doesn’t let it affect him.

“A no -touch ace from the omega!” cries the announcer, in a paroxysm of delight.

The stands go wild. There are even some cheers from the Inarikazi section.

He nails another service ace. And another.

“Another incredible serve, and Karasuno has tied with Inarikazi! Can you believe those nerves of steel? Is he even human?” The announcer answers his own question. “I don’t think so. He’s a machine. An omega machine!” 

The cheering doesn’t let up, most of it for Kageyama.

“Go omega!”

“Omega power!”

“King Kageyama!”

So now the tide has turned, and Kageyama’s got the crowd on his side. He knows it’s temporary. The spectators’ good favor is a fickle thing, easily lost. But after yesterday, it’s nice to not be peppered with blatant sexual innuendoes.

He’s walking back for his next serve when the announcer says, “Kageyama Tobio and Miya Atsumu are both outstanding setters. What a battle for victory! You can literally see the sparks fly between them.”

There does seem to be something of a specific rivalry between the two of them as they trade serves and spikes. That’s fine by Kageyama. He wants to beat Miya Atsumu as much as Miya Atsumu wants to beat him. They both want to win this match, but there’s something else there, too. They’re both going to be competing for the youth all-national team. And even if they both make it onto the team, they’ll both be competing for the starting setter slot. So, yes, it’s a competition, and not just to win this match.

They lose the next point, and then Atsumu's serving again. All too soon, they’ve lost the second set, badly. 

It’s a long, drawn-out third set, but in the end, Karasuno ekes out a victory.

It’s a stunning upset.

That evening, the exhausted, happy team is lounging around the inn. Kageyama stealthily makes his way outside. He wants to be alone. He doesn’t have the energy to go for a run, so he’s just standing there, staring up at the night sky. The sight of the stars winking above has always been soothing to him.

A rowdy group of guys is coming up the road, and he backs up until he is only a few steps from the door of the inn. He’s not quite ready to go inside yet, but he doesn’t want to interact with anyone else tonight.

A voice calls out.

“Hey, is that Tobio? Woo-hoo, Tobio-kun.” It’s Miya Atsumu, with the rest of the Inarizaki team. They’re in regular clothes, and plainly on their way out to party.

At Miya Atsumu’s words, the middle blocker, Suna Rintaro, stops. When he spies Kageyama, he spins on his heel and walks purposefully towards Kageyama. As he gets closer, Kageyama can see the determined expression on his face and his gleaming eyes. 

But then he halts abruptly. Miya Atsumu has grabbed him by the back of his shirt and is yanking him backwards. 

“Oh no, you don’t, Suna.”

“Wha-“ Suna starts to protest.

Miya Atsumu interrupts him. “I’m not letting your witchy face anywhere near my Tobio-kun.” He speaks lazily, but there is an undercurrent of steel in his voice.

Suna sighs but lets himself be pulled backwards, behind Miya.

“Great match, Kageyama-kun,” calls out Ojiro Aran.

“And you, Ojiro-san,” says Kageyama, bowing.

“We’re killing you next time,” Miya Osamu says in a monotone.

“You guys go ahead. I’ll catch up in a minute,” says Miya Atsumu.

Osamu rolls his eyes. “Come on. We’re going out to drown our sorrows. Together. As a team. Not chasing ass.”

“Shut up,” growls Atsumu. “I said, I’ll catch up with you in a freakin’ minute!”

They stand around, uncertain.

“Go ahead!” Atsumu adds angrily, shooing them forward. “Move!”

The guys grumble but start walking slowly down the road.

Miya Atsumu walks up and casually throws an arm over Kageyama’s neck. Kageyama is startled, but Miya grins down at him amiably. It’s an infectious grin, and Kageyama can’t help but warm to it. His arm is heavy on Kageyama’s shoulders and there’s something agreeable about the sensation, anchoring his tired body to the ground. Up close, Miya’s eyes are sparkling, and his hair shines silvery golden in the lamplight.

“Well, you didn’t suck,” says Miya.

“I know,” says Kageyama. A pause. He adds, “Neither did you.”

“We’re gonna crush you in inter-highs,” Miya continues.

“No you won’t,” Kageyama responds evenly. 

Miya grins again. “It was exciting to play against you,” he admits. “You’re one tough guy, Tobio-kun.”

Kageyama nods. He knows this, too.

Miya’s face becomes serious. “But that doesn’t stop you from being awfully pretty, too.” His finger comes up to touch Kageyama’s cheek.

Then his head dips down and his lips brush against Kageyama’s.

Kageyama freezes. What??! But he doesn’t pull away. It isn’t unpleasant, having Miya’s mouth on his.

When Miya lifts his head, his eyes are like stars in his face.

He bends down for another kiss and this time Kageyama instinctively leans up into him, matching the pressure. Miya smells good, like a strong wind blowing through a forest, and the feel of his firm body against Kageyama’s is refreshing. Kageyama turns so he is facing him head-on. He can feel Miya’s smile under his lips as his hand curls into Miya's shirt.

“I’m gonna be in touch with you, Tobio-kun,” Atsumu murmurs into his ear. “Once the dust settles from this tournament. You don’t live an impossible distance from me. And I’m willing to travel for somethin’ this sweet.”

One more brief kiss, then the arm is gone, and Miya is walking away. He doesn’t look back as he yells for his teammates to wait up for him.

Kageyama stares after him, his brow furrowed. He’s trying to figure out how he felt about the kisses. They were his first, after all. And they were… interesting. In a good way. A way he’d like to explore some more, he thinks, as he watches Miya Atsumu’s graceful, muscular frame move away from him.

But then he shakes his head. He’s got another match tomorrow. Against some feral cats. There’s no time to dwell on kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks for the lovely kudos and comments! they are so appreciated. (my apologies for not responding to any comments, but i'm still in the middle slogging this thing out and that sometimes can mess w/ my head, but, huge, huge thanks!!)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES – awkward skip over the rest of nationals, b/c (*embarrassed face*) I don't know what happens past season 4 (plus, wouldn’t want to have those kinds of spoilers in anyway probably). I tried to decide if I wanted to pretend that Karasuno either lost, or won, and then wimped out and couldn’t do it, so just doing the awkward time skip and not saying whether they won or lost. 
> 
> Warning: very detailed sex ed (from a nurse) in this chapter, so if you’re squeamish about that kind of thing, might want to skip it… (I might end up taking that part out, but left it in for now). Also, in this, Miya Atsumu only lives about an hour away by train.
> 
> No Oikawa, but he's showing back up soon

After they return from nationals, things get back to normal surprisingly quickly. True, there are some half-hearted attempts to make Kageyama the new Face of Omega Athletics. But after they’ve met him a few times, (“Can’t you just _smile_ a little bit?”) the overtures fade, and Kageyama can resume focusing on what’s important. And for Kageyama, that drive to improve, to win, to _play volleyball_ , only intensifies.

Some things _are_ different though. Their third-years have graduated, and their new crop of first-years are a mixed bag. It’s going to take some time before they settle in as a new team. And Kageyama is gunning to make the all-national youth team this year, which will not be easy.

It almost feels out of the blue when he eventually gets a call from Miya Atsumu. But he decides that he does want to see him, and before he knows it, they’ve made plans for Miya to visit the following Saturday.

Miya gets straight to the point. In fact, within about thirty minutes of arriving at Kageyama’s house, meeting his mother, and asking to see Kagyama’s room, Miya has Kageyama flat on his back, Miya’s tongue exploring every crevice in his mouth, Miya’s fingers inching their way up his shirt.

“Not such a goody-two shoes after all,” Atsumu breaks off to murmur into his ear. “I like it!”

“I – I like it, too!” Kageyama says in a raspy voice and Miya laughs. He moves to plant kisses along Kageyama’s collarbone.

Kageyama does like it. It’s exciting, to kiss Miya, touch his body, be touched by him. Kageyama loses himself in the sensation of skin on skin, of Miya’s mouth sucking on his chest, in Miya’s enticing, woodsy smell. 

It’s only when Kageyama’s mother, (who has never before had to think about this with her volleyball-obsessed child), realizes that her omega son is locked in a bedroom with a very virile-looking alpha she knows nothing about and that things have gone suspiciously quiet upstairs, she comes up and knocks loudly on the door.

When they exit the room, Miya grinning cheekily, Kageyama red-faced, his hair a mess, she reminds him that they have a very important event happening this afternoon and oh-so-sorry Miya-kun, he and Kageyama will have to reschedule for another day. She quickly bustles him out the door.

As a dazed Kageyama waves goodbye to an equally stunned-looking Miya, he wonders if this constituted his first date, truncated as it was. He’s surprised at how much he enjoyed the making out. Although, if he’s being honest, it’s still probably not anything he’d miss volleyball practice over.

He’s not sure it’s worth the aftermath, though. As soon as she has waved a brisk farewell to Miya, Kageyama’s mother pulls out his sturdy old binder and, her own face red, turns to the “Sexual Health” chapter. Kageyama lasts about thirty seconds before he slams the binder shut and says he’ll read it on his own.

Unfortunately, that’s not the end of it. His mother makes an appointment for him with the Pediatric Omega Sexual Health Nurse (that’s her title – it’s on her office door and everything!), at the hospital.

She turns out to be a small, sparkling, rather chirpy woman with a mass of black hair that keeps trying to escape the wayward bun on her head.

“I’m here to provide information and answer any questions you might have, Kageyama-kun,” she says, once he’s situated uncomfortably in her office. At least his mother’s not there.

When Kageyama only stares red-faced at the floor, she continues.

“How about I start with the information, and you interrupt me whenever you have a question, okay?”

He nods, still looking fixedly at the floor. If he doesn’t look at her, maybe it won’t be so bad?

“The first thing I always cover is the issue of consent. No one is allowed to touch your body without your permission, Kageyama-kun. I like to be very clear and explicit about this, because all too often omegas think that’s not true, that alphas can touch them however they want. Unfortunately, by the time most omegas come into my office, too many of them have experienced unwanted touching, particularly in a sexual context. Has anyone ever touched you without your permission?” Her voice is still chirpy, but she pauses very deliberately after saying the words.

. Almost immediately, it is as though Teradomari is right in front of Kageyama, his hands pinning Kageyama down, his disgusting nose pressing into Kageyama’s neck. Kageyama swallows, but he doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t look up. No way is he going to talk about _that_.

She lets the silence hang a little longer, but, when he doesn’t answer, merely continues with, “If anything like that were to happen to you, you can always come talk to me or one of our assault nurses. You never have to be alone with something like that. Do you understand, Kageyama-kun?”

She waits until she sees his nod. 

“And part of my job is to prevent that from happening, or happening again, to my patients.

“There are many aspects to staying safe, and we’ve written down a number of strategies here,” she pushes a pamphlet across her desk towards him, “for you to read at your leisure. I’ll touch on some of the highlights here today.

“Knowing your surroundings is very important, as is not being alone with alphas. It’s unfortunate, but you can’t be casual about your companions anymore. You need to be aware of the alphas around you, and it’s critically important that you not be trapped alone with even one of them.”

“Using language is another important defense. You and I will try out some of the different ways you can say _No_ in a little bit. We also have this video,” she holds out a DVD “for you to view at home. It has some additional exercises that are great to practice. The more you practice, the easier it will be to use these tools when you actually need them.”

“However, because we’re omegas,” she continues, and he is startled into looking up into her smiling face. He had no idea that _she_ was an omega, too! “- sometimes we end up in situations where we _are_ alone with alphas, and sometimes words aren’t enough. Especially with all the ways alphas have of controlling us. Sometimes even our own bodies don’t follow what our minds want. So I also like to equip all of my older teens with this little baby.”

She holds up what looks like a small flash drive, strung on a very thin, metal chain.

“This is what I call the Terminator. We don’t give them to our younger patients , but I trust that you won’t abuse the privilege.” Here she gives Kageyama a very stern look, and he hastily nods, _No, absolutely not, of course I won’t abuse the privilege._

“The Terminator is sort of like a mini taser. It only gives a mild shock, but it also has an additional chemical in it, one that acts as an alpha suppressant. Usually one shock will both deter and stun an unwanted alpha long enough for the omega to escape. I’ve found,” Again, he is startled into looking right at her face. Does this mean she’s actually used it? Against a _real, live_ _alpha_? “- that one shock is typically enough, although some pesky buggers need repeated shocks before they get the message.” Apparently, she has. She doesn’t give Kageyama time to process this astounding bit of information, but merely rolls on. “It can give four shocks in succession before it needs to be recharged. The prescription needs to be renewed every year, as the alpha suppressant loses efficacy over time.

“It can be worn as a medicAlert bracelet or necklace, or you can attach it to your key chain. I recommend my patients go with this handy necklace option, so it’s always with them. You never know when you’re going to need it! And it’s waterproof, so you can wear it in the shower, which makes it perfect for athletes, especially if their facility isn’t equipped with a separate omega changing room.”

Kageyama can only blink at her. It’s a lot to take in, particularly on top of the memories of Teradomari crowding into his head.

The nurse must sense that Kageyama needs a moment, because she hands the necklace over for him to inspect while she busies herself with getting some additional papers out.

There’s something about holding the smooth, metal contraption between his fingers that both comforts and upsets him. He hadn’t realized how much it was weighing on him, what happened in the T-shirt shop. And to have a _defensive weapon,_ to have _protection_ against it happening again. It’s an incredible thought.

Her brisk, competent voice starts back up. “Although easy to use, the activator is not wholly intuitive, because we don’t want those alphas figuring out how to use them against us, do we?”

“You press it as hard as you can into the alpha’s skin. If necessary, you can also go through clothing. This isn’t ideal – the shock will be less strong – but it’s better than nothing. And as you’re pressing, you need to have a finger on each of these two buttons. Do you see?”

She points out two unobtrusive raised bumps on either side of the small device. Then she pulls out another Terminator and a rubber, flesh-colored bubble about the size of his hand and has him practice giving shocks to the bubble. He has to press in with surprising force before it’s activated, but he finds it incredibly satisfying to hear the small buzz and see the bubble light up with a successful shock. He imagines the bubble is Teradomari’s skin as he jams it in.

After this, she moves on to other stuff, but by this point Kageyama feels almost as though he is undergoing military training, and he has lost most of his discomfort.

She is very thorough, and reminds him of the importance of barrier contraception, both for preventing unwanted pregnancy (“just because you’re on suppressants doesn’t mean you can’t get pregnant”) and to prevent sexually transmitted infections.

“If someone else’s penis is anywhere between here,” she holds one hand at her neckline, “and here,” she holds the other at her knees, “that penis needs to be covered with a condom.”

It’s a testament to how good she is at her job that not only is Kageyama able to keep looking at her face while she's saying this outrageous statement, he barely even blushes.

By the time they get to practicing unrolling condoms onto a model, he feels like nothing will ever embarrass him again.

All in all, it's an exhausting visit. As soon as Kageyama gets home he crashes into his bed and immediately falls asleep, the Terminator hanging securely around his neck.


	9. Chapter 9

After that sobering visit with the omega nurse, Kageyama puts all thoughts of a – a _romantic nature_ out of his head. When Miya calls again, he tells him he’s too busy to meet again. It’s true. He doesn’t have time to waste on that junk, when he’s got to put all of his energy into making it onto the all-youth national team. Plus, there’s a lot to be done to whip the current Karasuno team into shape. They all feel the loss of their third-years keenly. Kageyama has to work especially hard to hold his temper when their new middle blocker leaves a space the size of a canyon between his two supposedly blocking arms. But he practices taking deep breaths and giving constructive rather than ego-shattering criticism, all the while shaking with the effort of controlling himself. His desire to help the guy, (because _helping him will increase the likelihood their team will make it back to nationals this year_ , as Tsukishima is so fond of reminding him) overrides his fury at the guy’s incompetence.

It’s midway through Kageyama’s second year when they have an official match against Aoba Johsai.

It’s strange, seeing the Aoba Johsai team lineup – no Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, or Matsukawa. And, of course, a gaping hole where their old captain used to stand.

Daichi comes to watch the match, with Sugawara in tow. Kageyama sees them as he’s finishing up his warmup. They yell down excitedly from the stands, waving their Karasuno banners.

“Kageyama! You’re going to win today!”

“You came!” he says, surprised.

“We both skipped class.”

As he’s talking, Kageyama squints up. There – on Daichi’s neck! _Is it?_ Just under his shirt collar? Kageyama’s jaw drops and he looks over to Suga, who is watching him with a wry, happy smile. The same on Suga’s neck, but this one is higher up, more visible. A smooth, oval mark, about the size of a small apricot. Even though he knows it’s rude, he can’t stop staring at the bond mark.

“S-s-uga-san!” he finally splutters, meeting Sugawara’s eyes.

“Yes,” says Suga, his face crinkling up into a smile. “It was time for us.”

Kagyama’s eyes keep flicking to the darkened flesh on his neck.

“Are – are you happy?” Such a rude thing to ask! But Kageyama can’t help it. He wants to know. How could Suga submit to something so horrible, even for Daichi?

“Yes,” answers Sugawara, who knows Kageyama, and doesn’t take offense at the honest request for information. “Now go win!”

It seems to be something of a reunion for Aoba Johsai volleyball alumnae as well. Kageyama sees them out of the corner of his eye as he turns back to his team: Iwaizumi’s spiky hair, Matsukawa’s long, gangly arms. He immediately looks away. He doesn’t want to know if anyone else is standing in that group. 

It’s a good match. Both teams play well, and Kageyama feels like Karasuno makes some important strides during it. The new first-year can’t take Daichi’s place, but he’s learning, and his receives are marginally improved. Nishinoya is in top form, and Tsukishima’s spiking jumps are consistently high. Kageyama had more control with his serve during the match, too ( _Did he see? _the thought streaks across his brain before he can stuff it back down). 

Kageyama savors the win. Victory is not so rare that he feels bowled over in quite the way he used to, but it is always sweet. It’s especially sweet when someone from _Volleyball Monthly_ is there taking pictures of the match.

Kageyama is almost whistling as he and Hinata leave the locker room. He makes his way over to the water fountain when he happens to look down the hall.

And sees a familiar head of fluffy brown hair.

He is instantly brought back to that moment outside the T-shirt shop, when Oikawa scent marked him. Oikawa’s eyes, dark on him. Oikawa’s hair, soft against his cheek. Oikawa’s neck, gently rubbing against his own. Oikawa’s scent rising up around him. Kageyama shakes his head, hard, dispelling the memory.

Oikawa does not have the usual bevy of admirers that Kageyama remembers from years past, but there is _someone_ standing next to him: a petite, elegant woman. He stares, transfixed, as Oikawa bends down to listen to something she’s saying, placing a hand on her back with an easy familiarity. Kageyama can see Oikawa’s eyes light up at her words, and his face relax into a merry smile.

She, in turn, laughs, reaching up to brush a wayward strand of hair from his forehead.

The intimacy underlying the gesture is unmistakable.

Kageyama scowls. It is only when Hinata says, from behind, “Are you okay, Kageyama-kun?” that he realizes that he is emitting a low growl.

He quickly turns around, herding Hinata back, and mutters, “I’m fine.” He hopes that Hinata, focused on the recent match, won’t notice. What prompted such a foolish reaction, anyway? The scent marking was a practicality, that's all. Oikawa means nothing to him. And he knows, all too well, that he means nothing to Oikawa.

But when Miya Atsumu happens to call again a few weeks later, Kageyama says _Yes,_ he _is_ free this weekend, and he’d be happy to see him.

The _Volleyball Monthly_ photographer, Nakagawa, is scrolling through the Karasuno-Aoba Johsai pictures. He’s new to this job, and eager to impress. He stops on one of Kageyama slamming the volleyball down, face set in a fierce expression, muscles taut. He calls over to one of the editors, turning the screen so he can see it. “What about a write-up on this kid, Matsuo? He’s definitely going places.”

Matsuo squints. “Is that the omega setter? From – where was it – Kakugawa? ”

“Karasuno,” Nakagawa corrects absently. He frowns. “Is he really an omega? Uh,” he looks down at his notes. “Kageyama Tobio?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Definitely an omega. And no one cares about omega players,” says Matsuo dismissively. “They never make it.”

But there was something about that guy that really caught Nakagawa’s attention. The camera loves him, anyway. “If he’s an omega, maybe a human-interest piece? Something slice-of-life-y?”

Matsuo snorts. “A human-interest piece on _that_ guy? No way. He’s hopeless. We were going to do a profile on him after spring nationals last year. He was so surly. And no one wants to read about a grumpy omega.”

“He’s an outstanding player,” says Nakagawa, not sure why he’s arguing.

“ _Now_ he is. Wait another year or two. He’ll go down the tubes. They always do, those omegas.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s gonna happen with this guy,” Nakagawa says slowly.

“Tell ya what,” says Matsuo, who has enough experience to know that hunches sometimes pan out with spectacular results. This photographer came to them with a stellar record, too. “If you can find an interesting angle on him, something good, with some fabulous shots, then maybe - no promises, mind you – but maybe we’ll have someone write it up and run it.” Maybe a slice-of-life piece wouldn’t be so bad, he thinks, as the words roll out of him. They sure could use _something_ to boost their readership.

When Miya comes to visit, they end up back in Kageyama’s room, on the bed. This time, however, the door is cracked open a sliver, and Kageyama’s mother is perched ostentatiously on the couch at the bottom of the stairs.

Miya is propped up against the headboard, Kageyama sprawled out on top of him. He is holding Kageyama’s face in his hands and kissing him thoroughly.

He stops for a moment to run a finger down Kageyama’s nose.

“When is your next heat? I could, you know, come down for that. If you wanted.” His tone is carefully neutral, but when Kageyama flicks a glance into his eyes, they are dark, and he is watching Kageyama like a hawk. 

“I don’t have them,” says Kageyama. “I’m on suppressants.”

“Oh,” says Miya, not trying to hide his disappointment. He adds, “Do you have to be? Heats can be… pretty fricking fun.”

“Yes,” says Kageyama shortly. “I have to be.”

“Too bad,” says Miya lightly.

He flips them over, so now Kageyama is lying on the pillows, with Miya propped up on an elbow at his side. He leans over to kiss Kageyama, at the same time sliding his hand under Kageyama’s shirt. Kageyama is now used to Miya’s touch on his abdomen and chest. But this time, his strong, eager fingers are sliding lightly under the waistband of Kageyama’s pants.

“Even without a heat,” murmurs Miya, “we can still have more fun.” 

Kageyama stiffens.

“It’s okay,” whispers Miya soothingly. “It’s easy. It’s fun.”

Miya is talking about _sex,_ Kageyama thinks, with a start. Or something close to it. He wasn’t expecting this – today, with Miya. He thought it would be the same sort of making out as last time.

“The door’s open. My mom’s home!” he protests. 

“So?” whispers Miya hotly. His eyes are dark, and he trails kisses down the side of Kageyama’s face. His thumb traces smooth circles over Kageyama’s hipbone. Kageyama breathes in sharply. “She’s all the way downstairs. You can be quiet, can’t you, Tobio-kun?”

When Kageyama doesn’t answer, Miya’s hand slips out from under his pants and skates upward, brushing lightly over one of Kageyama’s nipples.

Kageyama lets out a low moan.

Miya grins, leaning in to cut the moan off with a kiss. Kageyama’s hands tangle in Miya’s thick hair, and Miya kisses him more deeply, rolling on top of him. Kageyama _does_ want more, with Miya. It feels so good.

But then, like a splash of cold water, the omega nurse’s voice sounds in his head, droning on about pregnancy, and infections, and condoms, and… _wait_. He needs a minute. To think. But it’s too hard to think with Miya’s weight on him, and Miya’s hands roaming over his body.

“W-wait,” Kageyama says, but he must not say it very loudly, because nothing changes, Miya is still pressing into him, still murmuring words of encouragement.

Should Kageyama go along with it? His body wants to. His arms and legs are wrapping around Miya, almost of their own accord.

But… he’s not sure. And he wants this to be _his_ decision, not Miya’s. If he could only take a moment, breathe, let his mind catch up with his body. Think it through.

It’s a relief when his mother’s voice floats up the stairs.

“Time to head out, boys,” she says. “I’ve got errands to do.”

Miya gives a reluctant groan and rolls off Kageyama.

“Can’t you come visit _me_?” he whines.

“Maybe,” grunts Kageyama noncommittally. First he’ll have to sort out on his own what _he_ wants to do.

“What’s this?” asks Miya idly as Kageyama pulls a hoodie over his head. Miya is holding up a Kitagawa First volleyball keychain, the clipping mechanism standing awry and obviously broken. It’s one of the few knick-knacks in Kageyama’s otherwise bare-bones room.

It was from the day Oikawa won the Best Setter award. Oikawa had been the most marvelous player Kageyama had ever seen, and he had wanted, more than anything, to play at Oikawa’s level – to _beat_ Oikawa.

When he had happened to see Oikawa carelessly throw the broken keychain into the trash, Kageyama had waited until the coast was clear and then carefully fished it out. It’s such a part of the everyday scenery of his room that he usually ignores it.

“It was from one of my senpais,” Kageyama says vaguely. “It’s nothing.”

Miya looks at him thoughtfully, but all he says is, “Hmmm,” and lays it back down on Kageyama’s desk. “Can we grab lunch? And then find somewhere to toss to each other?”

Kageyama looks up quickly. _That_ sounds promising.

Lunch is a muted affair. For some reason, instead of thinking about Miya, Kageyama’s mind keeps circling back to the broken Kitagawa First keychain. Why did he take it out of the trash in the first place? And why has he kept it? To remind himself of his goal to surpass Oikawa? 

Has he? he finds himself wondering. Surpassed Oikawa? The question unsettles him. Karasuno certainly beat Aoba Johsai with Oikawa as setter. But did Kageyama beat Oikawa? For the first time in his life, he wonders what that even means.

Miya must be following his own train of thought, because he, too, is quiet. When they are done eating, Miya lifts his hand to give Kageyama’s a squeeze, and says, “Should we get out of here?”

Kageyama is nodding his agreement when a teasing, familiar voice calls out, “Tobio-chan! What a pleasant surprise.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> silly fluff

Kageyama sits bolt upright, jerking his hand out from beneath Miya’s. He swallows and clears his throat. “Oikawa-san. Wh-what are you doing here?”

“I see time has not improved your manners, Tobio-chan. What kind of greeting is that for your old senpai?”

Kageyama feels Miya stiffen at these words.

Oikawa continues, huffily, “And not that it’s any of your business, but I’m home for my nephew’s birthday.”

When Kageyama only nods, Oikawa turns deliberately to Miya. “Allow me to introduce myself. Oikawa Tooru.”

“Miya Atsumu,” Miya answers lazily, tipping his head. He says it with the air of someone expecting to be recognized.

The thing is, Oikawa _should_ recognize Miya, both by sight _and_ name. Oikawa was at last year’s nationals, and, anyway, he keeps track of all the top players. But Oikawa has only a polite, slightly puzzled expression on his face.

“You both play volleyball,” Kageyama says helpfully. He finds himself wanting to smooth out what has become an uncomfortably prickly atmosphere.

“Huh,” says Miya, as if confused. His eyes are half lidded, and Kageyama is reminded, strangely, of a coiled snake. “I didn’t see you at spring nationals last year. Were you a Karasuno reserve player?”

And just like that, the match has started. It’s a devastating opening serve, insulting on multiple levels. As someone who has always had difficulty parrying Oikawa’s verbal thrusts, Kageyama can’t help but be impressed with Miya’s cool aim. 

Oikawa’s hands tighten on the strap of his bag.

“No. I played with Aoba Johsai. We didn’t qualify for nationals last year,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “Alas, beaten by Karasuno.”

“Ah,” says Miya, letting the ball fall out of bounds without any effort on his part.

2-0, in Miya’s favor.

But Oikawa isn’t down for the count. “A fate your own team also suffered, as I now recall. Inarizaki, isn’t it? Seeded well, but knocked out in the first match?”

Miya’s face darkens. A point for Oikawa.

“What position do you play?” Miya says, quick to start the next volley.

“Setter,” answers Oikawa coolly.

“You’re a setter?” Miya drawls, adding just the faintest touch of disbelief. “How interesting. Tobio-kun and I were just on our way to toss to each other. Wanna join us?”

Before Oikawa can answer, he adds, “But only if you’re not weak. I’m not in the mood to play against trash.” He turns to Kageyama and asks, “Is he weak?”

It’s almost another point for Miya, but Oikawa jumps swiftly to get the receive.

“I most assuredly am not weak,” he says silkily. He’s taken his own volleyball out of his bag and is spinning it expertly on his fingertips. “And as it so happens, I _am_ free. Takeru-chan’s party isn’t for,” he checks his phone “awhile. Plenty of time to give my kohai and Blondie-chan some lessons.” This one lands close to the line, but Kageyama thinks it is probably Oikawa’s point.

Atsumu grins, baring all his teeth. “Yes. Plenty of time to remind a senpai why he’s retired from the game.”

That one goes to Miya.

Oikawa’s face twitches angrily, but his voice is as smooth as ever when he says, “I haven’t retired.”

“You haven’t? Oh, so sorry. I just – assumed.” He lets his gaze wander casually over Oikawa. Most definitely another point for Miya. He’s about to run away with the set.

Two brilliant spots of color appear on Oikawa’s cheeks. He has never liked losing. But his voice is light and airy when he says, “Shall we go, then, my little chickadees?” This is accompanied by a smile – an icy smile that does not reach his eyes.

“Yeah, I think we’re just about done here,” says Miya. “Right, Tobio-kun?”

Without waiting for an answer, Miya stands up and holds his hand out to Kageyama. Kageyama takes it, and Miya pulls him up forcefully, into a quick kiss. Kageyama, not expecting it, blushes.

He can’t help glancing at Oikawa, whose smile has frozen on his face.

Set one to Miya Atsumu.

There’s a makeshift court in the park. The grass is lumpy, the net hanging low and filled with gaping holes, but it will do well enough.

Their warmup is mostly silent. Kageyama is wondering how this is going to work. Three is an awkward number. Maybe they can rotate tossing spikes to each other? Or practice their serves?

“How should we do this?” he asks.

“I was thinking of a nice, friendly match,” answers Miya, staring straight at Oikawa.

“But we have three players,” Kageyama points out, confused. How can they have a fair match with three people?

Oikawa ignores him and nods directly at Miya. Challenge accepted. “Half-court or three-meter line?” he asks.

“Half-court,” says Miya.

“Only two serves in a row allowed?” asks Oikawa. It’s Miya’s turn to nod.

They are ready to start.

Miya wins the coin toss for first serve. He turns to walk back to the makeshift serve line when he notices Kageyama, who has placed himself in position to defend the left side of the court.

“Get off the court, Tobio-kun,” he says shortly.

“Wh-wh-what?” stammers Kageyama.

“You’re standing in my court,” says Miya, as though explaining something to a small child. “This is a one-on-one match.”

Kageyama looks over to Oikawa. Surely Oikawa, of all people, will be happy for a chance to go up against Kageyama? But Oikawa is impatiently waving him away. “Hurry-up, Tobio-chan, you’re delaying the start of our match.”

“B- but, _I_ want to play, too.”

Neither one pays him any attention.

Kageyama moves off the court, seething, as Miya readies himself to serve, Oikawa crouched to receive.

After the initial shock of being unceremoniously booted out of his own practice session, Kageyama finds himself interested in watching. They are both outstanding players, and he wants to see how they fare against one another. He would probably put his odds on Miya as the one most likely to win.

Miya is still getting ready to serve, taking a bit of time to feel out his surroundings. Oikawa calls out impatiently, “We don’t have all day, Oh Great Inarizaki Setter!”

Miya’s face darkens dangerously. “Be quiet when I’m serving!”

“Temper, temper, Blondie-chan!”

“Shut up, you squawking rooster!” Miya snarls. Oikawa only smiles at him, unperturbed.

Miya’s serve is on point, though, and it flies past Oikawa’s fingers, untouched.

Another one, and, once again, it’s 2-0 in Miya’s favor.

Then it’s Oikawa’s turn.

“Ready for a nice, delicious serve?” he says archly. “Full of protein and fiber and other nutritious goodies?”

He earns a quick point, and then another. Miya’s not even close to getting either serve.

”Yum yum,” singsongs Oikawa.

It quickly becomes apparent that neither one can receive the other’s serves, not playing half court, so they switch to playing with just one fourth of the dilapidated court, and without serves.

Before they start up again, Miya says, “We haven’t determined the winner’s prize.”

“True enough,” responds Oikawa.

“Ah. I’ve got it!" says Miya. "The winner gets to walk Tobio home.” He is obviously feeling confident that this pleasure will be his.

Oikawa’s eyes flash. But, “If Tobio-chan agrees,” he says.

They both turn to look at Kageyama.

“I’m not a _prize,”_ Kageyama says furiously. “I want to _play_.”

Miya frowns and speaks directly to Oikawa, “We can sort out the details later.” Oikawa nods in agreement, and they start up again.

Kageyama grows increasingly frustrated with standing idly on the sidelines. In fact, he can’t help stepping in to receive a corner shot that Miya is definitely too far away to get. Afterwards, Miya gives him the blackest of looks. “Get off the court!” he says. “You ruined my point. I was gonna get that.”

“No you weren’t,” says Oikawa, waggling his index finger. “Stop lying. It’s bad for the soul.”

“Yes, I was.” insists Miya angrily. “If Tobio hadn’t stuck his nose in. That was interference. It’s an automatic re-do!”

“Re-do? Ah. I understand,” says Oikawa, nodding sagely. “The Great Miya Atsumu is really a fourth grader masquerading as a high schooler. Playing by elementary school rules.”

“But Tobio’s the one who ruined it,” whines Miya. “It’s _his_ fault.”

“Is that what they teach you at Inarizaki? Always blame the other guy instead of looking at yourself?”

Miya flushes red and glowers at Oikawa. He is unable to think up an immediate comeback and struggles silently for a moment before saying, through gritted teeth, "I'm going to beat you, ridiculous college guy with poofy hair!” He is clearly losing his cool.

. “Actions speak louder than words,” Oikawa sings out. He is almost sparkling with happiness at Miya’s loss of composure.

Kageyama sighs. Miya might be a match for Oikawa on the volleyball court, but Oikawa’s sharp tongue is tough to beat.

A few more points, and it’s clear Kageyama isn’t going to get a chance to play anytime soon.

“I’m leaving,” he finally says, resignedly.

There is no response. Oikawa has the ball and is tossing it into a perfect set for one of his killer spikes. Despite himself, Kageyama can’t help staying to watch one last move. Oikawa in action is like poetry in motion: an elegant mass of muscle, bone, and nerves working in perfect coordination to fluidly execute the commands of a ruthless intellect.

He shakes his head. Both of these guys are impressive as hell, even if they’re also imbeciles. But he’s had enough standing around.

“I’m going now,” he repeats, louder this time.

Not that either one pays him any attention. They are too focused on the match.

“Goodbye, idiots!” he calls out, scowling as he walks away. What a waste! He is angry at both of them, but especially Oikawa. If not for Oikawa sticking his stupid nose into Kageyama’s business, Kageyama could have spent the entire time spiking Miya’s perfect tosses. Oikawa really is the absolute _worst_. With Miya a close second.

When Miya finally calls, two hours later, Kageyama is still angry. He says he’s too busy to meet up again, and Miya goes directly to the train.

He gets another call later that evening, an unknown number.

“Guess who won, Tobio-chan?” warbles the voice into his ear. “Your old senpai. Too bad you didn’t get to see Blondie-chan run away with his tail between his legs.”

“”I don’t care,” says Kageyama.

“More importantly, you left before I could collect my prize. Unfair, Tobio-chan.”

“I never agreed to those terms,” says Kageyama angrily.

“Ah, well, your loss, then,” says Oikawa blithely. He adds, in the same light, teasing tone, “Watch out for that weaselly Blondie-chan, okay? There's something... untrustworthy about him.”

As if Kageyama would listen to anything Oikawa has to say about Miya. After _that_ ridiculous performance.

“Goodbye, Oikawa-san.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has completely gotten away from me, it just keeps meandering around in all sorts of directions. It’s almost done, will be posting the rest in the next day or two. To be honest, I’ve kind of lost perspective on it, and at this point I can’t really tell if it works or not (i'm kind of leaning towards the latter), but i've put it together the best i can and hopefully it works enough anyway.
> 
> Many, many thanks for reading it, and for anyone who left lovely kudos and comments. cheers!

After several suitably groveling apologies and promises that they will actually play _together_ next time Miya comes down, Kageyama grudgingly agrees to meet up with him again.

True to his word, Miya arrives with his own volleyball, and they immediately head out to play, no dallying in Kageyama’s room. On the way to the park, Miya once again slings his arm over Kageyama’s shoulder. Kageyama finds himself leaning into the pleasant, solid weight of it. 

Luckily, the makeshift court is free again. The park is surprisingly empty, just a few little kids running around, someone taking nature pictures, and an old lady with a dog. No one seems to be paying them any attention, so before they start, Kageyama allows Miya to back him into a tree for a slow, deep kiss. Kageyama wraps his arms around Miya’s neck and kisses back. It’s every bit as good as the other kisses have been, and Kageyama is a little disappointed when Miya breaks off to say, “Ready?”

Not too disappointed, though. Volleyball will _always_ be first. And spiking Miya’s tosses is something else again – a real treat. All in all, they spend a very happy afternoon tossing to each other, practicing their serves, and trying to receive some pretty brutal spikes.

  


When they arrive back at Kageyama’s house, it’s almost time for Miya to leave. While Kageyama stashes his stuff, Miya rummages idly around his desk, opening up all the different drawers. In one of them he finds the condoms Kageyama got from the health nurse. He lifts one up, his eyebrows raised.

Kageyama blushes. “They’re samples from the hospital.”

To Kageyama’s surprise, rather than try to herd him urgently onto the bed, Miya says, ““Well, I better head out. I don’t want to miss the train. I just have to use the bathroom. Is there one upstairs?”

“Down the hall to the left.”

When he wakes up the next morning, Kageyama is thinking happily of Miya. Yesterday was a good time. Maybe he _will_ go visit him. After all, he’s armed (with condoms!) – and dangerous too, he adds, smiling to himself.

When he opens the bathroom medicine cabinet, his bottle of suppressants isn’t there. He blinks, confused. The bottle is always there, on the second shelf. He never moves it.

He looks quickly along all the other shelves, but it’s nowhere to be found. He feels the first inklings of fear and crouches down. Maybe the bottle fell behind the sink? He scours the floor, behind the sink, under the tub, everywhere. There’s no sign of the prescription bottle.

As the minutes tick by, Kageyama becomes increasingly panicked. He runs back to his room. Did he bring it in there for some reason? He’s turned his room absolutely upside down when he remembers, with a feeling of utter relief, the emergency tablets he now always keeps in his gym bag. Two of them. It’s only twenty minutes late when he gets the dose down, and he thinks it’s going to be okay. He hopes it’s going to be okay. But he still has no idea where his pills could possibly have gotten to.

It’s only after he’s gone through all the kitchen cabinets and is looking under the couch cushions that he remembers.

Miya used the upstairs bathroom before he left.

They are able to get the prescription refilled early. It’s a pain, and comes with a financial penalty, but by the afternoon Kageyama has a full month’s supply. His mom is pissed. She doesn’t understand where the pills went, and Kageyama doesn’t tell her. It’s too humiliating, for one. And, secondly, he has no proof.

“How could you do that?”

“Do what?” Miya is clearly trying for a tone of innocent ignorance, but Kageyama detects an undercurrent of defensiveness in his voice, even through the phone.

“You know what.”

“Calm down, Tobio. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My suppressants, you asshole.” Kageyama is so angry he can barely get the words out. “Why did you take them?”

“I didn’t take them!” It’s said so convincingly that for a moment Kageyama isn’t sure. What if he’s wrong? But no. Miya must have taken them. There’s no other rational explanation for their disappearance.

“What did you think? That it’s a game? Do you know what happens to me when I don’t take suppressants?”

“What happens? You have heats, right?” says Miya sulkily. “I told you, I can help you with those.”

“No, you can’t. And you better fucking mail those back to me ASAP.”

“I didn’t take them!”

Kageyama hangs up. Fuck Miya. For some reason Oikawa’s words spring up in his mind: “Watch out for that weaselly Blondie-chan, okay?” Fuck Oikawa, too.

Two weeks later, all hell breaks loose.

When Kageyama comes down to breakfast, he has fifteen texts waiting for him on his phone. The first, from Sugawara, is short and cryptic: “I’m here if you want to talk.”

He scrolls through the others, all variations on the same theme.

_What_??!!!

The one from Hinata is the most illuminating. The message itself is benign, “Extra tosses with me after practice today?” But there is also a link to a news article. Hinata must have known Kageyama would have no idea what the hell was going on. He taps on the link with some trepidation.

_Omega Volleyball Star in Love_ blares the headline. _Will his Heart Be Broken?_

Kageyama swallows and scrolls down. A photograph of him and Miya, clenched together, kissing. The resolution is quite good, and it’s obvious that it’s a deep kiss, with tongue.

Kageyama feels faint. 

Another one, of Miya’s arm around his shoulder, looking down at him with a smile. But, far worse, is Kageyama’s own ridiculously sappy, adoring expression looking up into Miya’s face. Kageyama winces. _Unbearable._

But, further down, a third picture. One of Miya with his arm similarly placed around someone else, a guy Kageyama doesn’t recognize. The guy is wearing an expression that is almost identical to the one shown on Kageyama’s face in the other picture: happy, adoring.

Kageyama’s face burns with humiliated rage. He throws the phone down hard enough to leave a deep crack down the middle of the screen, despite the protective case.

He knows he doesn’t have a right to get angry at Miya for being with other people. The two of them only went out a few times. There were certainly no promises made. Nevertheless, it still hurts, and, more importantly, it is beyond mortifying to have his romantic life on display for the world to ogle and jeer at. 

He grabs the phone, ignoring the crack, and quickly dials Miya.

“What the hell, Atsumu?”

“Ah, um, Kageyama. Sorry. I’m, uh, not allowed to have any contact with you. Coach thinks it will, uh, affect my chances for making the national team. Good luck and I’m – I’m sorry I took the suppressants. But I had nothing to do with the article. Please don’t call me again.”

He hangs up abruptly.

Kageyama is left holding the phone in his hand, feeling like Miya has reached in and torn his guts out. _Affect his chances for making the national team_? If that’s true for Miya, it’s probably ten times truer for Kageyama.

Kageyama has to sneak out the back of his house and through their neighbor’s yard to avoid the reporters gathered on the sidewalk. It’s the same thing outside of practice, but luckily Hinata is there and able to cause enough of a distraction that he can enter unseen.

Coach Ukai takes Kageyama aside before they start. “Your personal life is your own, but I would advise you not to go broadcasting it to the world. It’s a distraction from the game. As an omega, that’s even more important. I know it’s unfair, but it’s a reality of our world. If you want people to take you seriously, you have to be serious. Plus, this,” he waves his hand vaguely towards the doors, “is a real pain for everyone.”

All Kageyama can do is sit and take it, head bowed, apologizing. 

Thankfully, no one else from the team brings it up, and they have practice as usual.

He is also thankful for Hinata’s foresight in asking him to stay late, and he relishes the burn in his muscles as they toss and spike, toss and spike, over and over again. 

Eventually, Hinata has to leave, but Kageyama decides to stay longer. Despite the intense workout, he’s not yet exhausted, and his nerves are still roiling.

“Go home soon,” calls Hinata worriedly from the doorway.

Kageyama only grunts in response.

He practices his serve, hitting as hard as he can, over and over again. Every times he slams the ball down, he’s pounding out inch after inch of his anger, disgust, and humiliation.

He’s surprised, later, to hear the gym door open again.

“I thought you’d be here,” says a familiar voice. Kageyam turns around slowly in disbelief,

It’s Oikawa. What a fitting end to this truly terrible day. To have Oikawa _here,_ in Kageyama’s gym, in his _sanctuary_. It sets fire to the storm that has been brewing internally for the past 12 hours, and Oikawa immediately becomes the focal point for all his helpless rage and frustration. 

But his voice, when he speaks, is surprisingly calm. “Oikawa-san. What a pleasure to see you.”

“Tobio-chan,” says Oikawa guardedly, obviously not sure what to make of this unexpected greeting.

“What are you doing here?” Kageyama asks, still with that calm voice. But before Oikawa can say anything, he answers his own question. “You’ve come to gloat, haven’t you?”

“Of course not!” says Oikawa impatiently, now walking towards Kageyama.

But Kageyama continues speaking, as though he didn’t hear Oikawa. The veneer of calm falls by the wayside, his voice cracking as he says, “Does it make you ha-ha-happy? To be _right_? To see me hu – humiliated before the world?”

Oikawa stops.

“No,” he says, quietly and seriously. “It doesn’t make me happy.”

“What are you doing here then? Get out! I don’t want to see you.”

Oikawa doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t leave.

“You’re the last person I ever want to see! Go!” Kageyama cries out, desperate to be heard, to be listened to - to have some measure of authority over the circumstances of his own life.

Again, Oikawa doesn’t move. This serves to further enrage Kageyama. The situation is so out of control, he feels completely lost and helpless, and _has he really screwed up his chances of making the national team_? And why is Oikawa always there to see him kicked into the ground, weak and helpless, just like in the Shiratorizawa bathroom, just like with Teradomari, and now here, and it’s too fucking much and he just wants Oikawa _gone_.

When Oikawa continues to stand, immobilized, Kageyama gives a frenzied snarl and throws the ball, as fast and hard as he can, right at Oikawa. His aim is terrible, because by now the stupid omega tears are filling his eyes and blinding him. The ball rockets off the wall and back towards Kageyama. He doesn’t even try to move out of the way, and it’s only luck that the ball narrowly misses him on its return.

“Okay,” says Oikawa at last – _finally_ getting the message. “I’ll leave.” Unfortunately, he feels a need to continue speaking before he does so. “But. I’m sorry this happened, and if I can help in any way-“

“Help?!” roars Kageyama. How dare Oikawa offer to help scrape Kageyama up off the floor? How dare he act the part of the big, strong alpha rescuing weak, pathetic omega Kageyama once again from circumstances he can’t handle?

. “I don’t need any help from _you!”_ he yells. “I _hate_ you! I hate everything about you!”

Oikawa blinks, apparently stunned by the hot vitriol being thrown at him.

“Just _leave_ , goddammit!” shrieks Kageyama, now almost unhinged. “Get out! I hope I never see your smug face again! For the rest of my life!”

Oikawa, apparently, also has limits, and he finally reaches them. “Fine!” he yells back. “That’s what I get for coming all the way here and trying to be nice to you, stupid-face Tobio-chan! I hope I never see _you_ again for the rest of _my_ life!”

He storms out of the gym.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, unfortunately Miya Atsumu had to be sort of a villain even though they are pretty cute together imo- maybe for the next story it'll be AtsuKage


	12. Chapter 12

Apparently, the fates are listening to both of them, at least partially, because it ends up being over two years before they come face to face again.

It’s a period of time that starts off badly for Kageyama.

For one thing, the rest of his high school volleyball career is a big, long disappointment. While KageGate dies down unexpectedly quickly, it seems to leave a permanent stain on his volleyball career, because nothing goes quite right after that. 

They don’t qualify for nationals, either his second of third year, and during Kageyama’s final year, Karasuno is beaten, not only by Aoba Johsai and Shiratorizawa, but also Date Tech, and even _Ohgiminami._

Miya Atsumu makes it onto the all-youth national team, but Kageyama does not. .

In fact, Kageyama barely makes it onto a university team. None of the powerhouse volleyball schools want him, and, it seems, even the medium and lower-weight schools are indifferent to his skills. 

Secondary gender harassment is illegal, but it’s difficult to prove.

No one says outright, “We don’t want any omega trouble on our team.” Or “That kid? No way. He’ll be out all the time with his heats,” or, “He’s just on the team so he can screw the alphas.”

Instead, Coach, when he puts his ear to the ground, hears, “He’s not a good fit for our team,” and, “We’re not looking for a setter this year,” and, “He’s not what we need.”

It’s only through Takeda sensei’s diligent networking, Coach Ukai’s own efforts, and Kageyama’s prior record that he eventually does land a spot on a university team. It’s not a powerhouse school by any means, he’s not promised a starting place, and the coach is not overly enthused about the prospect of an omega setter, but Kageyama squeaks in.

It’s obviously not his first choice, and he would be lying to say that he wasn’t disappointed with how things turned out, but it’s a helluva lot better than nothing, which would be _not playing at all._ And there is indeed something appealing about the idea of making a fresh start. Kageyama is nothing if not determined when it comes to volleyball, and he vows to do whatever it takes to turn his volleyball trajectory back around.

It takes some time, but a few months into the first year, he’s finally starting to get comfortable with the other guys and internalize their spike and blocking styles. The other players, in turn, are finally starting to learn that any ball he sets will without fail land exactly where it needs to.

And then the final – does everything have to be so fucking difficult? – _worst_ blow hits: Kageyama’s suppressants stop working.

Not altogether, but slowly, bit by bit, he starts to have breakthrough heats. They’re not nearly as bad as his previous ones – none of that incapacitating pain – but he does have weakness and cramping, and he starts missing practices.

\--------

He’s back with the team doctor after the fourth missed practice in the past month, and they both know it’s not because of the twisted ankle that he claims is still hurting him. The doctor’s field is sports medicine, and he deals with orthopedic issues, not hormones. But Kageyama has come to trust his clinical acumen, and, after all, they have the same goal: for Kageyama to be out on the court in optimal condition.

So he doesn’t leave immediately when the doctor says, abruptly, “You must know that the easiest way to deal with this is with an alpha, right? Do you have an alpha in your life who can help you with these heats?” Kageyama knows this is a polite way of saying, _Do you have an alpha who can fuck you through your heats?_

Kageyama’s endocrinologist has basically been asking him the same question for the past 6 months, although also not worded quite so baldly. At every visit, he’s been harping on about how it’s best to start tapering off the suppressants and start dealing with his heats “in a more natural way.” He is increasingly worried about the long-term effects of using such high-dose suppressants. It’s taken all of Kageyama’s manipulative skill to keep putting him off. 

Unfortunately, when the sports doctor poses this question, an image, not of Miya, the only alpha he’s ever been remotely close to fucking, but of _Oikawa_ of all people, instantly rises in Kageyama’s mind. Oikawa, as he has never been in life, standing, smiling a genuine smile, his eyes warm, holding out his hand to Kageyama.

At the thought, a fresh, clean scent, like the wind blowing over a sunny meadow, pervades the room. Kageyama has started to pump out happy, satisfied pheromones. _Shit_! Betrayed, yet again, by his own treacherous body! 

“There,” says the doctor with satisfaction. He is smiling, and Kageyama knows he is responding to the contented, fulfilled pheromones Kageyama himself is exuding. It would be hard not to respond, even for a beta: the air stinks of them. They will almost certainly have to purify this room before anyone else uses it.

The doctor continues speaking. “I knew there would be someone special in your life. There almost always is. Now, even _I_ know that if you address these heats at the start of symptoms, they should only last a day or two, maybe even less, and, once they regulate, they should decrease in both frequency and intensity. Some omegas only have heats once or twice a year. This of course would be the solution that is by far the least disruptive to your volleyball schedule. Does your alpha attend a different school? Is that the problem? If so, it _is_ possible to obtain special accommodations, including a travel dispensation. It only requires a form from the university administration, signed by your doctor.”

Kageyama grits his teeth as the doctor rambles on, feeling like the walls are closing in on him. Are these truly his only options? To suffer through heats that _take him away from volleyball_ , or, even worse, to go crawling to _Oikawa_ to be fucked? To submit to awful, insufferable, petty, barbed Oikawa? Who despises Kageyama as much as he despises Oikawa? He can still hear Oikawa saying “I hope I never see _you_ again for the rest of _my_ life!” (He squashes the voice in the back of his mind that is trying to remind him that Oikawa wasn’t the only one hurling insults during that confrontation.)

At this turn of his thoughts, the happy scent disappears. It is quickly replaced with a smell that is much less pleasant. Kageyama can tell the doctor is trying hard to control himself, to remain professional, but he can’t help wrinkling his nose. Kageyama doesn’t blame him – he is now emitting a truly noxious odor.

The doctor sighs and scratches the back of his neck. “I understand it’s a complicated issue. And… I’m not the right person to help you with this. There’s a reason I didn’t go into psychology. I recommend that you discuss this further with the appropriate professionals.”

Kageyama shakes his head angrily. _No_. He doesn’t want to “discuss this” with other doctors who will, he is sure, likewise urge him to submit to Oikawa.

This doctor looks at him thoughtfully. He has seen a lot of atheletes come and go. And he already knows a fair amount about Kageyama. He’s seen how hard he works, how good he is, how much he wants to _win_.

He also knows Kageyama is running on borrowed time. He doesn’t have the luxury to wait this out for 2, 3, 6 months. The team is moving on, and Kageyama better move with them if he wants to retain his place.

“Well, there _is_ one other option to consider. It’s not recommended,” here he frowns severely at Kageyama. “There can be risks with this sort of thing. And they often lose efficacy over time. However, _while_ you’re sorting things out with your alpha,” _Not my alpha_ , screams Kageyama to himself. _Never my alpha_! “you can probably buy yourself some time by trying artificial alpha scents. They help some people. Not as effective as the real thing, but, if that’s not an option…” The doctor shrugs… The implication is clear: it’s better than nothing.

“You can try this number.”

Kageyama makes an appointment. Before going, thought, he decides to try one other option. Theoretically, it should be any alpha who can help him, right? So, he starts going to the parties that his teammates are always urging him to attend. However, he only goes with his beta teammates, and he is always careful to make sure the Terminator is fully charged and securely around his neck. 

At all of these parties, there are alphas that look at him, engage him in conversation, express definite interest in him. But Kageyama finds that the thought of wrangling with any of them, even kissing them, does not excite him. It is even mildly repellent. He’s not sure why. He thoroughly enjoyed kissing Miya. But he doesn’t have the time or energy to pursue this further. Not when the prospect of artificial alpha scents is looming so temptingly on the horizon.

\------------

The scent shop/test site is hidden in plain sight, a discreet sign, **Essence,** over a plain, wooden door. There’s something secretive, almost shameful about it: omegas who don’t have alphas, for whatever reason, and, who need to resort to pharmacologic substitutes.

He meets briefly with the technician before starting. The procedure is explained, and he’s told that the reactions are typically not very intense, except, in rare cases, when the smell triggers the memory of an especially powerful alpha connection. They are a trained and licensed site and have full resuscitative capabilities on hand if needed.

He is taken into a clean, bare room. It has plainly been sanitized, with only a faint trace of antiseptic lingering in the air.

He sits down in a large, cushioned chair, and is belted securely in (“just in case,” the technician tells him), on the opposite side of a small table from the technician. The technician is holding a medium-sized tray with what look like toothpicks placed in carefully labeled, covered slots. There are about 100 of them.

The technician explains, again, that Kageyama will smell the tip of each individually scented toothpick, and rate it on a scale of zero (nothing) to 10 (high). Between each scent, he’ll clear out the prior one with a quick whiff of a cleansing gas.

A little nervously, Kageyama brings the first test scent towards his nose. He takes a tentative sniff, but he doesn’t smell anything, so he tries again – a large sniff. Again, nothing.

“Zero,” he says, and the technician carefully marks the response on a recording sheet.

That’s how it goes for the first thirty samples. The highest he rates any smell is a one. By fifty, he’s starting to feel worried. 

At this point, he’s practically snorting each toothpick, trying to elicit some kind of response. By the eightieth sample, he’s panicking.

“Is it okay that I don’t smell anything?” he asks.

The technician only smiles and encourages him to move to the next one.

By the 95th, Kageyama is feeling desperate. What if there’s no synthetic replacement that works for him?

When he brings the next stick to his nose, he takes a huge sniff, praying for some kind of response, no matter how minimal.

It’s like he’s hit by a truck. The smell immediately envelops him, sucking out all the strength from his limbs. He collapses back into the chair, grateful for the straps holding him up. Despite his weakness, he keeps the scented stick pressed into his nose. He can’t stop smelling it, such a lovely combination of cinnamon, vanilla, and something subtly nutty – almonds?

“Reaction?” asks the technician, when Kageyama doesn’t say anything.

“T-t-ten,” says Kageyama, clutching the scented stick to his nose.

The technician insists on running through the remaining samples, but it’s obvious that Kageyama has found his replacement scent.

After the testing, Kageyama meets with the pheromonologist.

He’s given specific instructions on how to use the scent, and a surprisingly small vial full of it.

“Only three drops at most of undiluted liquid per 24-hour period. If preferred, it can be pumped out through this aromatizer. On the other hand, any amount of this very diluted spray can be used.” She holds up a large and innocuous-looking spray bottle. “Most clients find it best to heavily spray their bedding during a heat.”

The smell itself can actually trigger a heat, he learns, so he is told not to use it casually.

Kageyama can’t help trying it out the following Saturday, after practice. The smell was so very delicious.

He barricades himself in his room, fortified with liquids and snacks, and liberally sprays the whole space, especially on the bed. It is fairly quick-acting. When he sprays the inside of his wrist and brings it up to his nose, he feels slick start to roll out of him.

And then Kageyama is lost. He spends the rest of the day and the entire night humping into his scented pillows. He’s amazed to emerge only 24 hours later, exhausted, ravenous, but feeling more refreshed than he has in a long time.

For the first time in ages, he feels hopeful. Maybe he _can_ overcome this whole omega thing. _Without_ being bound to an alpha.

Kageyama lies to his endocrinologist, telling him that he now has an alpha, and the suppressant taper is started. He meets together with the doctor and his coach, and together they work out as much of a schedule as they can, trying to time the induced heats for days when he does not need to be at practice or a match.

Kageyama is pleasantly surprised by the coach’s willingness to put so much effort into helping him. But by now the coach understands what a deadly weapon Kageyama could be. He has high hopes for the year, with his ringer omega setter hidden in plain sight.


	13. Chapter 13

The next period of time only solidifies Kageyama’s optimism. He feels better and better as the suppressants are tapered slowly off – he hadn’t realized how much they were dragging him down. And with the heats well controlled with the synthetic scent, Kageyama finds himself relaxing into his new life, feeling more and more confident. The team is also coming together in a very satisfying way. All in all, things are looking better than they have in a long time.

\---

They have an upcoming set of practice matches, an informal round robin with several other of the Tokyo-based universities. Kageyama expects that he will play – his first chance at a practice match with his new team. He is almost entirely off the suppressants, and he is brimming with energy. He had an induced heat two weeks ago, spent jerking off into his synthetic-alpha-scented sheets, and there should be no chance of any heat symptoms today. He can put all his focus into the matches.

Kageyama is nervous but also excited. It’s a real chance for him to show the coach what he can do. Their team is decent and getting better every week. Even though these are only practice matches, Kageyama wants to win.

It is a huge shock to see Oikawa warming up with one of the other teams. Kageyama knew, vaguely, that Oikawa was recruited to one of the powerhouse Tokyo schools. He knew, vaguely, that they would eventually have to meet up on the court. But he had hoped for a longer reprieve.

But he has nothing to worry about, he tells himself. Neither he nor Oikawa want anything to do with one other, and they are here to play as opponents, just as they have always been. In fact, the old pull to win, to beat Oikawa, fills and even comforts him. It’s so familiar.

He can’t help surreptitiously looking over at Oikawa’s team, though. Even with a quick glance, he can tell that Oikawa doesn’t have quite the easy familiarity he had with the Seijoh team, where they were almost like brothers. However, Kageayama can see a definite respect and ease among the players. That’s always been one of Oikawa’s strengths, anyway, getting to know his players, bringing the best out of each of them.

Kageyama feels young, naïve and inexperienced in comparison. He sighs. Will he never catch up?

He winds up nervously back in the locker room, splashing cold water on his face. The Terminator swings out when he leans over, and he tucks it back under his shirt.

He’s bent over, head practically in the sink, when two other players walk past, talking casually.

“Did you hear there’s an omega player here?”

“No way!” In his astonishment, the second guy stops, only a few feet from Kageyama.

“Yeah, he was supposed to be pretty good. But then he was in a sex scandal back in high school. Or something like that. Disappeared.”

Kageyama freezes, the cold water dripping from his face.

“Well, he won’t be any trouble. I bet he sucks.”

“Yeah. I bet he sucks _and_ swallows.”

They both laugh and start walking away.

“Maybe we can show him a good time later, after the matches,” Kageyama barely catches, before they are out of earshot.

He takes a deep breath. They’re just assholes. Talking bullshit. Plus, he’s got the Terminator. He’s not defenseless. But what the _hell_ was he thinking, coming in here alone? Stupid idiot. He can’t let his nerves distract him from his own safety.

As he hastily exits the locker room, Kageyama wills himself to focus on the upcoming match. _If you want people to take you seriously, you have to be serious_. Coach’s words come back to him, anchoring him in the world. Kageyama is here to play, to improve, to win. Focus on that.

His team does not end up playing Oikawa’s team. Kageyama’s team, while putting in a solid performance, is fairly easily outmatched by the other teams. The coach is optimistic, though. They played well, and Kageyama was a devil on the court. It’s going to be a good year for them.

Oikawa’s team is the overall winner, which isn’t a surprise. His serve is still as powerful as ever – perhaps even more so – and their team is a well-oiled machine.

It _is_ a surprise, however, when Oikawa walks over after the last set.

“You played well, Tobio-chan.”

“And you, Oikawa-san,” Kageyama says, bowing. “Congratulations on your victory.” He’s feeling pretty good right now. He did play well, and he’s excited about their team. Equally importantly, he’s not facing Oikawa from a position of weakness; he’s got his omega status under control. Oikawa truly does not have any power over him. Filled with a need to prove that he’s not a helpless victim, that he, too, can act with strength and dignity, he adds, in a rush, “I apologize, Oikawa-san, for what I said when we last met. I was not – I was not at my best.” As soon as the words are out, he knows that speaking them is as much a victory as if he had won a volleyball match.

Oikawa seems taken aback by the unexpected apology. He looks at Kageyama curiously before saying, “Thank you, Tobio-chan. And I, too, apologize.” He adds, hesitantly, “I happen to have some free time now. Would you like to go for a coffee?”

Kageyama doesn’t drink coffee. But, buoyed up by the unexpected feeling of winning, he agrees.

As he bows again, Oikawa also leans in, and Kageyama inhales that faint, familiar, tantalizing aroma. It’s similar to the synthetic scent, only deeper, wilder, more pungent. It makes his pulse jump. He instinctively steps back and doesn’t meet Oikawa’s eyes as he mumbles something about going to change.  
  


As he’s walking to join his team in the locker room, his coach calls him over. “Oi! Kageyama.”

Coach is pretty excited about Kageyama’s performance. He has some ideas about where they’re going to go from here, and he wants to talk them over right away. Kageyama happily joins him.

Kageyama is humming to himself as he enters the locker room, preoccupied with thoughts about the strategies his coach has laid out. He vaguely notices that it’s pretty darn quiet, but he’s still riding the high from a well-played match, the feeling of having bested or at least met Oikawa head-on, and excitement about the future. He’ll take a quick shower and get out of there.

He is out of the shower and sliding into his jeans when the first lick of pain curls across his lower abdomen.

What???? He freezes in shock. _Shit!_ It feels like a heat! And not just any heat. A fucking monster heat, like those first two horrible ones, way back at the beginning. _No way_! This can’t be happening! Things have been going so well! And he had a heat only two weeks ago.

Nonetheless, pretending it’s not happening won’t change the facts. If he is going into heat, and a bad, one, he’d better get the hell out of there right away. He’ll have to give Oikawa some excuse and head back to his room.

His hand briefly tightens around the Terminator hanging from his neck.

He pulls on his jeans and buttons them with trembling fingers.

He's just got his shirt on when he hears the locker room door swing open, and a voice say, “I thought I smelled something good back here.”


	14. Chapter 14

He jumps. It’s the guy who was in the locker room before. Talking trash. He is definitely an alpha, and he’s coming on very strong. Kageyama is immediately on high alert. No one else is in the locker room, and he is most certainly going into heat. Rapidly, if the prickling feeling on his skin is anything to go by. An inadvertent whine is starting in the back of his throat. He swallows it down.

“I’m on my way out,” he says, keeping his voice as low-key and non-confrontational as he can. The last thing he wants is any kind of contest. He’s in no shape for battle. Not when his body is screaming at him _to submit to an alpha_. He thinks, through the fear, that his body must truly be desperate if it’s willing to settle for _this_ creep. For all he knows, he could end up bonded to the fucker. The thought escalates his fear exponentially. 

He’s grabbing his bag out of his locker when the guy’s arm snakes around his waist, pulling him in.

“Let go,” Kagyama says, but even he can hear how weak his voice sounds. He is starting to smell himself as well. Shit. Double shit. Triple shit. The situation is rapidly devolving. If he doesn’t get out of here very soon, he’s in big trouble.

He’s got 4 shots with the Terminator, but what if someone else comes in? He can’t think about that. He’s got to get rid of this guy as quickly as possible, then hopefully make it out to the front desk where he can get help. 

He’s getting weaker, and pain has started to spasm across his belly. Goddammit! He’s so angry – at himself, at asshole alphas, and most of all at his stupid fucking status.

He uses the strength the anger gives him to jam the Terminator as fast as he can into the guy’s arm. It’s a good shot, and the guy jumps back, releasing Kageyama.

“Ow! What the fuck was that?”

But he’s immediately back, crowding into Kageyama’s space. The omega nurse’s voice comes back to him: “Some pesky buggers need repeated shocks before they get the message.” He jams it again, but this time the guy is ready for him, and the shot deflects onto his jersey. It still got him, but weakly this time, through his clothes.

“You little shit,” the guy growls. He grabs at Kageyama’s arm, luckily not the one holding the Terminator. The guy takes in a breath, and Kageyama knows, with certainty, that he’s about to let loose a command. With all the force of desperation, he jams the Terminator right up into the guy’s neck, as hard as he can.

The guy crumples almost instantly onto the floor. He’s breathing, he’s still alive, but he doesn’t look like he’ll be getting up anytime soon.

Kageyama bends over his knees, panting heavily. The rush of adrenaline is gone almost as quickly as it came, and he's not sure he'll be able to stand again. 

He tries to reach for his stuff, but it’s too much work. He’ll have to leave it. Just grab his wallet. He leans against the locker, trying to catching his breath before heaving himself upright.

The locker room door squeaks open again.

_Fuck!_ Really? Someone _else?_

Kageyama’s heart sinks when the guy comes into view. It’s another alpha. This guy is also pretty buff, and he stands, warily, taking in the scene: Kageyama, obviously in heat; the other alpha out cold on the ground. His nostrils flare as he gets a good whiff of the pheromones saturating the air. His pupils dilate and he takes a few steps closer to Kageyama.

Kageyama’s head starts to spin. He grunts as another wave of pain hits him. It will take everything he has to use the Terminator another time. He has only one shot left, and he needs to make it count.

Two steps more and the guy reaches out and takes hold of him.

With all his remaining strength, Kageyama thrusts the Terminator up against the guy’s chest, presses the button, and releases. It’s through the guy’s shirt, but that can’t be helped.

“Shit!” yells the guy, but he doesn’t step back. “What the hell?” His hand tightens painfully around Kageyama. 

This guy is quicker on his feet than the previous guy. He doesn’t wait to start issuing orders.

“Stop moving!” he says. The Terminator has had some impact: the command does not stop Kageyama completely. But it still has force, and Kageyama finds that it is even more difficult for him to move. 

Kageyama hears the squeak of the door opening yet again. Is it _another_ alpha? Fuck. There’s no way he can fight a _third_ one, too.

He frantically tries to come up with some means of escape, but he can't think of any. His phone is out of reach, he doesn't have the strength to scream, and there's no emergency Help button that he can see. 

The only thing he does have is his body weight.

He lets himself drop.

The guy is lurched sideways, forced to let go of Kageyama in order to stabilize himself. Kageyama falls into a crouch, and uses his last, desperate reserves of strength to scuttle away. Only a few more feet…

But the guy is quicker, and he’s running after Kagayama, grabbing his arm and spinning him back up and around, when - 

“Yoo-hoo, Tobio-chan. What’s taking you so –“

Oikawa stops in his tracks.


	15. Chapter 15

“Having fun, Tobio-Chan?” Oikawa's eyes rake over the scene.

Kageyama can’t help the wave of relief that rolls through him at the sight of Oikawa. He knows Oikawa can smell it, because his eyes flash. _I’m not leaving you_ , they say, and tears prick Kageyama's eyes at the lifeline that is now visible, right in front of him. 

The guy can smell it, too, and he yanks Kageyama in close.

“Can I help you?” he asks Oikawa.

Oikawa is standing very tall, his chest puffed out aggressively - posturing, thinks Kageyama. If the situation weren’t so dire, he would laugh. As it is, the guy has one arm around Kageyama’s waist, circling him from behind, and his mouth is dangerously close to Kageyama’s exposed neck.

Oikawa plainly realizes the risk and doesn’t make any sudden moves.

“You’re going to let go of Tobio-chan right now,” he says, his voice deceptively soft.

“And what if I don’t?” asks the guy insolently. He’s got his hands on the prize, he can smell the pheromones that are pouring out of Kageyama. Kageyama would bet that saliva is already pooling in his mouth at the thought of slamming his dick into Kageyama’s ass; he’s not going to let go any time soon. As if to prove Kageyama right, the guy pulls him in more tightly. Kageyama is helpless to resist. He feels like he is being dangled by the throat, held in a predator’s jaws. He could scream with the frustration of it. 

Oikawa bares his teeth and growls. It starts low and barely audible, slowly rising until it fills the room. It’s so deep and guttural that the hairs on the back of Kageyama’s neck stand on end, and his teeth vibrate in his mouth.

He can feel the guy try to face it, try to bluster his way through. But there’s no way he’s taking on the wrath of the rampant lion standing a mere three feet from him, especially not when he’s just been hit with an alpha blocker.

Giving vent to his anger, he pushes Kageyama away, hard enough that Kageyama slams into the lockers, banging his head painfully.

“Cocktease,” the guy mutters under his breath. He stalks out angrily, glaring at Oikawa. Oikawa's eyes follow him. His muscles are tense, as though he is only barely restraining himself from leaping after the guy and kicking his face in. He stays put, however, his gaze turning back to Kageyama. 

Kageyama leans into the locker. His head hurts, now, too. The cool metal is refreshing against his prickling skin, and he wishes he could disappear into it.

Here is Oikawa, once again witnessing his failure, his pathetic weakness. Yet, more than anything, he’s grateful to Oikawa. And he can hardly think through the strength of the stupid fucking heat.

He exhales and tries to rally himself. 

“Thank you, Oi-Oikawa-san,” he gasps. He holds on to the locker door and even tries for a small bow – anything to hold on to at least a semblance of dignity. But he is too dizzy, and he has to clutch the door to keep from falling. It is the most awkward, graceless bow in the history of bows.

Oikawa doesn’t say anything back. He is staring at Kageyama with dark, half-lidded eyes. He has stopped growling, but the reverberations seem to be echoing around the room.

Another stab of pain forces Kageyama down, until he is sliding helplessly to the floor, his head bent over his knees.

It is ridiculously like that moment in the bathroom after the Shiratorizawa game. Fuck!

How is he going to get home? He’s already in no shape to even walk out of there. He’s so sick of the stupid heats and being a fucking omega. All he wants is to play volleyball! He can smell the angry, frustrated fear smell pumping out of him. He knows that Oikawa can smell it too, but there’s not much he can do about that right now.

His vision is starting to blur, and he knows that pretty he’s going to be so out of it that he’ll end up back in the fucking hospital. And how will he stay on the team then?

Oikawa crouches down next to him but doesn’t touch him.

Kageyama’s head is bent over, but Oikawa’s hands, hanging loosely from his knees, are in his line of vision.

Groaning with the effort, Kageyama lifts one of his hands and flops it on top of Oikawa’s. 

Once again, at the contact, Kageyama's pain immediately recedes.

He almost sobs with relief. His mind is a swirling mess, but there’s – there’s _something_ he wants to say. 

“This… this doesn’t mean anything,” he pants out.

Oikawa stiffens, and Kageyama thinks for one terrible moment that he will drop Kageyama’s hand and leave.

But Oikawa doesn’t. He merely says, “As you wish,” in a colorless voice.

“And I’m going to… to beat… you next time we play against one… another.”

Here, Oikawa snorts, and then, in his usual teasing voice, says “When we play your team, we’ll wipe the floor with you.” But he settles himself into a sitting position, and the hand he places on Kageyama’s shoulder is gentle.

Kageyama awkwardly falls into Oikawa’s waiting lap, his head in Oikawa’s neck, instinctively seeking out Oikawa’s scent gland. The pain is almost all gone. He’s still weak, though, and he can feel the stupid tears building in his eyes. Fucking omega. But he’s too tired to fight them. Too tired to fight. Why is he always fighting against Oikawa, he wonders, when it’s really so easy, so very easy, to fall into him?

“Yes,” Oikawa breathes, so softly Kageyama can barely hear the words. “That’s right. I’m here. Beautiful Tobio-chan.”

He nuzzles into Kageyama’s neck.

“Don’t – don’t bite me,” gasps Kageyama. He knows he’s in no position to make demands, but he says, weakly, “P-p-promise?”

“I promise,” Oikawa answers immediately. He takes Kageyama’s chin in his hand and tilts Kageyama’s face until he can reach it with his mouth. And then Oikawa is kissing him. A light brush of lips. Once, twice, three times. It’s electric, and Kageyama’s own lips part willingly in response.

“Do you want to come home with me, Tobio-chan?” Oikawa asks softly, between kisses.

“Y-y-yes,” says Kageyama, leaning in hungrily for more kisses. Oikawa takes his face in both his hands and holds him still.

“Do you know what that means?” Oikawa asks, in a low voice that is almost a growl. He is looking directly into Kageyama’s eyes.

“Yes,” says Kageyama.

But Oikawa apparently feels the need to say it anyway. “We’ll be fucking.”

If Oikawa thinks this will reduce Kageyama to a blushing, stammering mess, he’s wrong. Kageyama has survived Pediatric Omega Sexual Health training, after all. 

His voice doesn’t even shake as he responds, “I know.” He adds, with perhaps a hint of a blush after all, “You have to – you have to wear a condom.”

Oikawa grins and leans in to kiss Kageyama once more. “Of course. But only one, Tobio-chan? I believe you’re underestimating me.”

.

It’s a short Lyft to Oikawa’s apartment. The driver gives them black looks and pointedly opens all the windows, but they have thoughts only of each other.

Oikawa half-carries Kageyama up the stairs. The minute they are inside, Oikawa kicks the door shut behind them, drags Kageyama to the bedroom, and topples him onto the bed. He efficiently removes their clothes and climbs on top of Kageyama.

_Oh._ The feel of Oikawa’s skin, covering his. It’s unbelievable. He could drown in it.

Oikawa is kissing him, murmuring, “Sweet Tobio-chan… perfect… smell so good.”

Yes. It _is_ perfect. It _does_ smell so good. Kageyama wants _more._

Oikawa kisses Kageyama’s collarbone, his chest, flicks his tongue over Kageyama’s nipples. Kageyama arches into him, sinking into the sensations.

Strong fingers stroke his abdomen, fall lower, between his legs. It’s so, so good. Then Oikawa is kneeling over Kageyama, staring down at him with flushed cheeks and darkened eyes. He takes Kageyama’s cock in his hand, pumping it as he thrusts into him.

Kageyama comes so fast and so hard he practically chokes. Moments later, Oikawa collapses on top of him with a sharp cry. 

They fuck again, and again, and again, in rapid succession, until Kageyama loses himself in the frenzied haze of the heat.

When Kageyama finally comes into some semblance of lucidity, he is lying on top of Oikawa, and Oikawa is gently stroking his back. Despite Kageyama’s utter languor, the touch sparks something deeper. He finds himself squirming, hips rutting lazily into Oikawa’s thigh. He’s getting wet, too; he can feel the liquid ooze sluggishly out of him.

“Again, Tobio?” a voice rumbles happily in his ear. “Here. Have something to drink first.” He is propped up into a sitting position, and he gratefully drinks the cool, refreshing liquid that is tipped carefully into his mouth.

Then he’s being kissed again, and held, and touched, and fucked, and fucked again, until he finally drifts off into an exhausted slumber.


	16. Chapter 16

When Kageyama wakes up, the heat is spent, and the sun is shining through the windows. They are curled around each other in bed, and the gentle rise and fall of Oikawa’s chest is soothing beyond belief. He feels more relaxed and refreshed than he has in years.

He finds himself trailing his hand along Oikawa’s lean, strong arm. There’s a pleasant fizz under his fingertips as he touches the warm skin. 

When he reaches Oikawa’s hand, Oikawa twists his wrist and laces their fingers together.

Kageyama pulls himself free and leans over to kiss Oikawa, a deep kiss.

“That feels like a goodbye kiss, Tobio-chan,” says Oikawa drowsily. His face is soft and open.

“Yes,” says Kageyama.

“Oh,” says Oikawa. He props himself up on his elbows as Kageyama stands up on wobbly legs. Kageyama is now weak with hunger, but he dresses quickly and efficiently. He has an urgent, almost overwhelming, need to flee.

When his next heat rolls around, he texts Oikawa. He hasn’t tried to contact Oikawa in the interim, and Oikawa has not contacted him.

He makes it to Oikawa’s apartment, red-faced and awkward. But Oikawa pulls him in without question and he sinks into Oikawa’s wonderful, hot, soothing embrace. 

In the evening, after the heat has dissipated, he is lying in Oikawa’s bed, basking in the comfort of Oikawa’s body.

“Do you want to go out for dinner?” asks Oikawa, running his hand lightly along Kageyamaa’s hip. It would tickle if Kageyama hadn’t just been so thoroughly fucked that all his nerve endings are on a temporary hiatus. The words are said casually, but the silence is deliberate, and the hand running across his hip stills in anticipation.

Kageyama frowns up at Oikawa. What is he asking for? A _date_? No. No! That isn’t what this is about! This is a physical relationship that satisfies both of them. That’s all. There’s nothing else to it. A date is a bad idea. A very bad idea. A date is a stepping-stone to more dates. To a relationship. To a _bond._ To Kageyama, the idea is anathema, and he can’t suppress a horrified shudder.

Of course Oikawa notices Kageyama’s overt revulsion. He removes his hand from Kageyama’s hip, and rolls over, climbing out of the bed. His shoulders are uncharacteristically sagging.

It becomes a regular occurrence. At the start of a heat, Kageyama makes his way to Oikawa’s apartment, texting Oikawa on the way. Oikawa is always there, waiting for him. They spend about twelve hours fucking, and Kageyama leaves, satiated and well.

Oikawa tries, once more, to invite Kageyama out, but Kageyama refuses. Oikawa does not ask again. 

With his heats now under control, Kageyama hardly misses any practice. He has more energy, and his focus is improved. He also finds that Oikawa’s scent lingers on him for quite awhile after each heat. He notices a subtle difference in his interactions with the alphas on his team: they are freer with him, and the overall practice atmosphere is more relaxed.

Sometime later, Kageyama is once more lying on Oikawa’s bed in the aftermath of a frenzied heat. Today, though, instead of lazily sinking into Oikawa, he’s restless.

“What’s troubling little Tobio-chan?” asks Oikawa carelessly.

Kageyama flinches slightly at the “little”, and even the “Tobio-chan,”; why is Oikawa still calling him that? But what does it matter, really? They see each other infrequently, and he’ll be out the door soon enough.

“Nothing,” he says.

Oikawa looks at him pointedly. He can tell that something’s up.

Kageyama sighs. “We have a match against Chuo in two weeks. I’m starting, and I want to do well.”

There is a silence.

“Hmmm,” Oikawa eventually says. “I’ll probably regret helping my enemy, but… I have a recent tape on them - they have three new starting players this year. I haven’t seen it yet myself. Do you want to watch it with me?”

Kageyama eyes him warily, as if expecting a trap.

“So distrustful, Tobio-chan! Here I am, offering you valuable intel on your opponents, and you think I’m trying to pull one over you? Maybe I’ll rescind my generous offer.”

And really, why wouldn’t Kageyama accept? It is, indeed, a generous offer.

Kageyama showers, because he’s sticky with come and slick, and sweat. It’s a delightful experience. Oikawa has a range of lovely, scented soaps lined up neatly in his shower, and Kageyama has quite a nice time trying them all out, finally landing on one that has a pleasant, lemony scent to it. He emerges from the shower squeaky clean and absolutely starving.

Oikawa has even thoughtfully laid out some clean sweats and boxers for him.

They are a little too big for Kageyama, but extremely soft, and he’s very glad he doesn’t have to put on the heat-scented clothes he wore over.

When Kageyama emerges from the bathroom, Oikawa pauses for a moment, staring at him, a strange expression on his face. But Kageyama looks away, and Oikawa merely heads into the shower himself without saying anything. 

After Oikawa is done, he heats up some leftovers for them. It’s surprisingly delicious (can Oikawa actually cook?), and it’s just as surprisingly pleasant to eat together in Oikawa’s kitchen.

The sight of Oikawa in his jeans and button-down shirt, his hair damp from the shower, his skin glowing, sitting across from him at the small table, leaves Kageyama with an unsettled feeling in his stomach. He quickly tamps it down. This time with Oikawa isn’t about feelings. It was recently about sex, and soon it’s going to be about volleyball.

They end up on the floor in front of Oikawa’s couch, Oikawa with a pad of paper and a pen, for quick notes. He’ll transfer them later to the complicated spreadsheet that houses all his volleyball-related data.

Oikawa loads up the tape.

As they watch, Kageyama finds himself sinking slowly, by degrees, into Oikawa’s side. He’s sleepy after the food, and Oikawa is so very comfortable.

Oikawa lifts his arm around Kageyama’s shoulder, pulling him in , and Kageyama gives a small, pleased grunt. He sees Oikawa smile at the sound, although Oikawa doesn’t take his eyes from the screen.

But then Oikawa needs his hand to write, so he pauses the tape.

“Here, let me just – “ he says, and maneuvers them both so that Kageyama is sitting in front of Oikawa, Oikawa’s legs extended around him. 

Yes, this is better. Kageyama can lean back into Oikawa’s chest, and Oikawa can wrap his arms around Kageyama so that his hands meet in front and he is still able to write.

Oikawa has two remotes, so they both can stop any time they want to review a particular play.

“See?” says Oikawa excitedly, about 20 minutes in. His voice is a pleasant, dull rumble this close, and at the sound, something relaxes even further inside Kageyama. “See how he always turns like that, right before he tosses to their #7?”

Kageyama does see, and he stashes the information in his brain for later use.

The next one to pause is Kageyama.

“The middle blocker has height,” he says slowly. “But he’s afraid. He pulls back, just a little, at the last second.”

“Hmm,” murmurs Oikawa. He rewinds and they watch the play in slow motion. “Yes. I think you’re right. It will be interesting to see if he has corrected that defect by game time.”

They watch the rest of the match, two pairs of bright eyes focused wholly on the screen before them, examining every move, every jump, every fumble.

By the time it’s over, Kageyama is feeling much more confident about the upcoming match. Even though it’s a top-notch team, they definitely have weaknesses that can be exploited.

“Thank you, Oikawa-san,” he says to Oikawa as he leaves.

Oikawa nods; for some reason, his face looks... sad. He quietly closes the door behind Kageyama.

One day soon after, Oikawa shows up unexpectedly at his dorm room. Kageyama, surprised, invites him in. It’s a very small room. The only place for Oikawa to sit is at the desk, with Kageyama perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed.

Oikawa starts fiddling with the math textbook that is open in front of him. Kageyama looks at him more closely. He doesn’t look good. His hair is flat and stringy. There are dark circles under his eyes.

Oikawa must be able to read him pretty well, because he says, “Yes, I know I look like crap.” His voice turns pouty, accusing. “It’s your fault. You’re ruining my looks. I think you may even be affecting my volleyball, Tobio-chan.”

What is Oikawa saying? Something about the words makes Kageyama uneasy. And why does Oikawa persist in using that stupid name? 

“Stop calling me that,” says Kageyama angrily. “I’m not – I’m not a _child_!”

Oikawa blinks. “Forgive me. Kageyama-san,” he finally says.

Kageyama’s eyes widen.

At this, Oikawa gives a mocking laugh. “I’m – trying here.”

Then Oikawa takes off in a wholly unexpected direction. “I know you don’t want anything more between us than what we’re already doing.” His tone is unusually bitter as he adds, "You've made that very clear."

Here he pauses, biting his lip. Kageyama has never seen him like this: fiddling with his hands? Biting his lip? Is Oikawa _nervous_?

“I, on the other hand, do," Oikawa continues. "Want more. I want _you_. All of you. Not just the… physical part." His voice takes on a pensive quality. "I think I’ve always wanted you. Even when I thought I hated you. I was always picking on you. Looking for you. Even going to that stupid market, hoping to run into you...” His voice trails off.

“Be that as it may.” He draws in a ragged breath. "It’s… not working like this.” Kageyama has a moment of pure terror. Oikawa is talking about wanting more. Would Oikawa claim him? Forcibly? _Make_ Kageyama bond with him? He could easily do so. As an alpha, and with their strong physical connection, Oikawa could do anything he wanted to Kageyama, and Kageyama would not be able to stop him. Even though he promised he wouldn’t bite Kagayama, he could easily break that promise.

One hand flies protectively to his neck, the other to feel for the end of the chain, for the Terminator. But Kageyama’s heart sinks. He’s not sure he would have the strength of will to use it, if it came to that. There’s already so much inside him, pulling him towards Oikawa.

“Don’t look at me like that,” says Oikawa angrily, accurately interpreting Kageyama’s response. “I’m not going to force myself on you. I’m not a monster.”

Relief sweeps through Kageyama, and Oikawa exhales sharply at the sight. “If you think I would _ever_ force myself on someone…” he shakes his head with revulsion. “Well, perhaps it _is_ for the best, then.”

There is a pause while Oikawa visibly collects himself before he says, in a rush, “I can’t see you anymore. Not if I can’t have all of you.”

Kageyama freezes. What is Oikawa saying?

“And. Even though I’m doing this so I can move on, and I would expect you to do the same, I know that seeing you with someone else will make me very… angry.” A low growl has entered his voice, and he quickly clears his throat, dispelling it. “So, Tobio-ch- I mean, Kageyama-san. Please stay away from me.” It’s a request. The first time Oikawa has ever asked something of him. With a very uncharacteristic note of desperation in it. 

“There. That felt good, didn’t it?” Oikawa continues, the old, needling sharpness back in his voice. “To hear me beg?” He is trying for a light, teasing tone, but instead sounds hollow and defeated. Kageyama hates it.

But Oikawa isn’t quite done yet. “I hope that the only place I ever see you again is on the volleyball court. And there, as always, I will do everything in my power to defeat you. Do not think that because you have bested me in life, you will best me on the court."

He stands and bows formally to Kageyama. “Goodbye, Kageyama-san.”

Kageyama can only stare up at him, stunned. It’s all happening so fast - he can't make sense of it.

By the time he's sifted through even half of it, Oikawa is long gone.


	17. Chapter 17

Oikawa has always been a scorpion, with his clever, stinging barbs. True enough. And enough of his words have stung sharply. But what of his actions?

He has never forced Kageyama, and Kageyama knows, with a bone-deep certainty, that he never will. Every single time Kageyama has come to him in a heat, he could easily have forced a bond between them, a bond he clearly wants, and he has not done so.

On the volleyball court, he has always treated Kageyama in the way Kageyama has wanted to be treated – as a rival, a worthy competitor, someone to beat, not as a weak, helpless omega who should be treated gently. Perhaps with too much sting, but that’s who Oikawa is. He’s not perfect, after all. In fact, he is pretty awful in some ways.

But. _But_. He is strong where he needs to be strong, and… every time Kageyama has needed him, _truly_ needed him, Oikawa has been there, bolstering him up: when he was in that terrible fight with Hinata all those years ago and couldn't find his way out of it; when he was in the deadly heat in the Shiratorizawa bathroom; when he was being attacked by Teradomari; when he was assaulted in the locker room. Now that Kageyama thinks about it, it’s quite an impressive list. 

And what has Kageyama ever done for Oikawa? Nothing really, except rebuff him at every turn and use him for sex. It’s a bit nauseating, in fact, to realize this.

Oikawa, also, has goals. He, also, has not yet made the national team. And Kageyama hasn’t supported _him_ in the least.

Kageyama exhales slowly.. Although in many ways the alpha/omega bond holds an inherent power differential, maybe it doesn’t have to mean inequality, or disrespect; maybe it doesn’t have to mean subjugation. Maybe it could mean… being together. Maybe it’s Kageyama who is standing in the way of… something good.

The message is from Sugawara:

_I found this recently on my desktop. Not sure you ever saw it? It was the live broadcast. Before they edited it down. It’s essentially what shut down KageGate. Call me if you want to talk. Suga._

Kageyama clicks on the link. It’s a news clip. Oikawa is standing on the street, a microphone in his face.

A reporter’s voice is asking, “You’ve played against the Omega King, Kageyama Tobio, who is now caught up in a steamy love triangle with Inarizaki star Miya Atsumu, haven't you? What do you think of him?”

Kgeyama waits for it: the scathing put-down of Kageyama; of Miya.

It doesn’t arrive.

Oikawa says, in a serious voice, “Kageyama Tobio is one of the best players to ever come out of Miyagi Prefecture, and has an excellent shot at making the national team.”

“You mean one of the best omega players?”

“No. I mean what I said. One of the best players.” His words are now light and playful, but very clear.

The reporter, not getting what she wants, takes a different tack.

“What do you think of him consorting with Miya Atsumu, who seems to be quite well known among omegas?” It’s said with a wink and a smile, _Oh those ridiculous omegas, always thinking with their_ …

Oikawa’s tone is still light. “I think that the private life of a high school student should remain private.”

“Don’t you think Kageyama-kun should be protected from alphas who may taking advantage of him?” the reporter pushes, looking for a juicy one-liner to take away.

“Kageyama Tobio can handle any alpha who comes his way. And anyone who takes pleasure in sticking their nose into his business should perhaps ask themselves why their own life is so empty that the dating life of a high schooler is of such great interest to them.”

It’s said pleasantly enough, with Oikawa’s trademark, flirting smile to lessen the sting, but the meaning is unmistakable, and the TV announcer can’t stop a dull red from creeping up her neck at the insult.

The clip ends, and Kageyama stares at the screen for a moment before scrolling back to the beginning. He looks at the date. This was filmed four days after the story initially broke. Four days after Kageyama told Oikawa he hated him and never wanted to see him again.

As he closes his computer, Kageyama has only one question left in his mind: how does Sugawara _always_ know when and how to help?

At Oikawa’s door, Kageyama almost turns back. But he’s come so far, he should at least try. It may be too late, but he very much hopes not.

He rings the doorbell. It’s strange to be here without the urgent need relentlessly driving him.

Oikawa opens the door. He looks better than the last time Kageyama saw him – his skin is as smooth as ever, his eyes as bright, his hair as effervescently fluffy.

When Oikawa realizes who it is, he starts to close the door. For a moment, Kageyama is frozen. But he’s come all this way, and he’s not about to give up before trying again. One more chance to get that serve over the net. One more chance to get the ball where he wants it to go. So at the last second, he jams his foot in the doorway, stopping it from closing. Oikawa inhales sharply, angrily.

But Kageyama can tell when Oikawa realizes that there is no overwhelming scent of a heat, that Kageyama is not merely coming here desperate for physical relief. Oikawa frowns, and his head tilts to the side. He slowly opens the door again.

“What do you want?” he asks in a measured voice. His face is completely closed off to Kageyama. Any of the vulnerability, the softness, the open yearning he has seen before is now gone. It is Oikawa's game face, the one that gives nothing away to his opponents.

He is an imposing sight, with that blank stare, his lean, muscular frame filling the doorway. However, Oikawa’s intimidating presence has never been enough to stop Kageyama from trying. If anything, the familiar sensation of competing spurs him forward.

“I-“ He pauses and looks down the hallway, then at his own foot, blocking the door. Oikawa has never forced him. He should act in kind. He pulls his foot back. “May I come in?”

At first, he thinks Oikawa will say no.

“Only for a moment,” he adds, in what he hopes is a reassuring manner.

There is a long pause before Oikawa steps aside, swinging the door fully open.

Kageyama is through the first hurdle.

He walks into the apartment, surprised at how familiar it feels. He shouldn’t really feel surprised, though, with all the time he’s spent here. He glances around. He never really noticed how carefully tidy it is. The prints on the walls. The furniture that is nothing special, yet somehow also inviting. It has a warm, comfortable feel to it – like a _home_. Kageyama ignores the tug in his chest. He tries to ignore, also, the familiar smell, faint now, but most definitely Oikawa.

He is in front of Oikawa, leading the way, and he’s not sure where to go. Not the bedroom, of course. And he doesn’t want to be sitting down for this conversation. He turns into the kitchen, the warmest, sunniest part of Oikawa’s apartment. He leans against the fridge.

“Yes?” Oikawa prompts, in the same measured voice. He is lounging against the counter, giving the appearance of relaxed nonchalance, but Kageyama can see the tautness of his muscles. Oikawa is on edge.

“I-“ but inside Oikawa’s lair, this close to him, Kageyama finds he can’t begin. His throat is suddenly full of rocks. “I – “ he tries again, and, again, he is at a loss.

He clears his throat, emitting a feeble, scratchy sound, which does nothing to loosen the boulders which have trapped his vocal cords. “I – “ He stops again. He has fought so hard and for so long against this that the words simply will not come.

Perhaps, instead, he can show Oikawa? As soon as the idea comes to him, he steps forward and leans in, brushing his lips against Oikawa’s.

Oikawa doesn't move.

Kageyama leans in again and repeats the kiss. He lifts his hands towards Oikawa’s neck.

Oikawa grabs a wrist in each hand.

“No,” Oikawa says. His face is a stone mask. “I told you. I don’t want only that part of you.”

Kageyama doesn’t drop his hands, and Oikawa doesn’t let go of them.

“You-“ Kageyama says, struggling against the weight of the words. “You –“ Fuck! Why can’t he say it?

“I what?” asks Oikawa, his voice low in the otherwise silent kitchen. His eyes are boring into Kageyama’s.

“You _c-c-an_ ,” Kageyama stutters, forcing the words past the rocks. “H-h-have me.”

Oikawa frowns, a crack in the mask. But only a crack.

Kageyama spits the rest out through gritted teeth. “All of me.”

Oikawa looks confused.

The expression is so unexpected and endearing that Kageyama’s breath catches.

Oikawa’s grip tightens painfully on his wrists.

“What are you saying, Kageyama Tobio?” he asks roughly. But Oikawa’s almost childish confusion has done what his stony anger could not: split open the boulders blocking Kageyama’s speech. Kageyama's next words are spoken firmly, with confidence.

“I’m saying that you can have all of me. And that I want all of you.”

“What?”

"I want to be with you, Oikawa-san. For real. If you still w-want it.”

“Of course I still want it,” says Oikawa impatiently, almost angrily. He hesitates. Then, in a wholly different tone, “Do you mean it? You’ll be _mine_ , Tobio-chan? And I’ll be – _yours_?”

For once, Kageyama doesn’t mind the name. “Yes,” he whispers. Then he clears his throat and says it again. Louder. “Yes.”

Oikawa lets out a small, disbelieving sound. His brow is still furrowed.

“All of you? Dinner, and going out, and – and being together?”

In answer, Kageyama smiles. Hinata has always said his smile is scary, but Oikawa isn’t frightened by it. Instead, the frown slowly smooths off his face, and a small smile takes its place. Soon, they are both grinning stupidly at each other in the warm, sunny kitchen.

But the smile fades, and Oikawa looks serious again as he says, in a low voice, “You’ll be only mine?”

Kageyama nods.

“No one else will kiss you – like this?” His lips brush against Kageyama’s – soft, teasing. “No one else will touch you – like this?” His fingers slide under Kageyama’s shirt, up the planes of his chest, dancing lightly.

“No one else,” Kageyama confirms, shaking his head.

The smile that breaks out on Oikwaa’s face this time is like the sun dawning over the horizon: soft, slow, and radiant. Kageyama’s heart squeezes painfully at the sight. Oikawa is so very beautiful. His hand comes up to trace the curve of his cheek.

Oikawa pulls Kageyama in, kissing him, a rain of kisses on his mouth, along his jaw, blazing down his neck.

Kageyama winds trembling fingers through Oikawa’s hair, runs them along Oikawa’s strong, sure body. He can feel the smell rising up around him, the familiar, intoxicating scent, surrounding him, enveloping him. He is going to be lost in that smell soon, lost in the feel of Oikawa, too.

Oikawa is now lapping at Kageyama’s neck: rapid, shallow licks, like a cat lapping up milk, drinking in the taste of him. Kageyama shivers. He is growing limp, falling into Oikawa. He almost can’t hold himself upright any longer.

“My alpha… “ he says.

He feels Oikawa shudder at the words. Two sharp points prick lightly against his neck.

Kageyama takes a deep breath. He’s ready for this.

“ _My Tooru_ ,” he whispers, directly into Oikawa’s ear.

And Oikawa bites down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks for reading this, and again, heartfelt thanks to anyone kind enough to leave kudos or comments. it's fantastic fun for me to read all the comments now that it's all out.  
> cheers!


	18. Epilogue

When Kageyama exits the locker room, he’s still on a high from the award.

He quickly crashes back to earth, however, as flashes go off, microphones are jammed in his face, and he’s hit with a barrage of questions.

Kageyama, however, is more prepared these days. He knows better than to do what he wants, which is to angrily push his way through without saying anything. He does his best to keep his face from descending into its natural scowl and instead says the words he keeps on hand for occasions like this. The ones that give credit to his teammates and that thank all the people who’ve helped him along the way. The speech flows smoothly off his tongue. After all, he’s been taught by the best! He ends with a well-practiced “Thank you for your interest,” and a bow. There. He’s done it. He turns away.

“Nothing else from the first omega to ever win the MVP award?” calls a voice, stirring up another round of questions.

Kageyama feels the beginnings of a headache start in his temples and his smile get tighter on his face. And then he sees it, up ahead, in the darkness: a lean, elegant figure detaching itself from the wall. The guy stands, lounging nonchalantly. Kageyama’s heart thumps in his chest.

“Thank you for your interest,” he repeats. He says it more firmly this time because, only a few yards ahead, someone is waiting for him. It’s only been four days that they’ve kept apart, with other things to focus on during the intercollegiate championships, but that’s been long enough.

The reporters don’t take the hint, of course. The microphones are still blocking his way, and the questions are still coming at him.

With only the barest hint of frustration in his voice, he thanks them a third time and quickly ducks around – he has the reflexes of an MVP, after all – to move past them. Even so, he likely would not have escaped so easily had Ushijima not chosen that exact moment to come out of the locker room. The vultures immediately flock to him: the reigning champion is always good for a few pithy comments. 

And then, not entirely unexpectedly, Kageyama runs into a second horde, hidden behind the gaggle of reporters. These ones look so young, with their smooth, round faces, that he wonders briefly if they’re still in elementary school. But no, they’re pretty tall, so he thinks middle school is more likely. A few girls in the mix, too. They all want his autograph – on their programs, their journals, even their volleyballs (which is not at all practical!). He doesn’t mind this as much as he does the reporters, and what’s a few more minutes, after all? He gets to work signing.

“Are you really an omega?” It’s whispered shyly up at him.

“Shut up, Kotaro!” hisses another taller, much burlier kid, elbowing the first kid in the stomach. “You don’t _ask_ that question! Idiot!”

The first kid curls in on himself.

“Yes,” Kageyama says, looking directly at him. “I am.” It’s still a challenge to say this without shame. He does his best, though, because he can see that this kid has a certain softness about him – in his eyes, in his rounded shoulders. He’s already presented, Kageyama thinks.

Perhaps this is what prompts him to add, with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, “I’m the Omega King!” It feels strange and awkward on his tongue.

The kid doesn’t seem to notice the awkwardness. He beams up at Kageyama with one of the biggest smiles Kageyama has ever seen. The kid fairly glows with it.

And then there’s a strong, sure hand on Kageyama’s shoulder, and a head of fluffy brown hair leaning in. A beloved but nonetheless infuriating voice says, “Want to take your picture with the Omega King?”

The kid nearly falls over, eyes goggling as he fumbles with his phone. Kageyama gives Oikawa a death glare, because _come on_! A _picture?!_ The last thing he wants is to encourage this kind of crap!

Oikawa merely winks at him – _got you, Tobio-chan!_ \- and holds the proffered phone up. Kageyama smiles woodenly while Oikawa steps back to take the photo.

The rest of the kids immediately start clamoring for their own pictures with Kageyama. Oikawa, however, has also had enough by now. He sweeps his arm around Kageyama and easily extracts him from the mob with a gorgeous smile and a fluttering wave. Just like that, they’re walking away, the kids waving back in a somewhat dazed manner, because who, really, can withstand the onslaught of Oikawa at his most charming?

The kids’ words follow them down the hall.

“Didn't _that_ guy also play today?”

“Yeah, you’re right. He was at the awards ceremony. Wasn’t he on the second-place team?”

“He was. He must be pretty cool, too. But nowhere near as cool as the Omega King.”

“Look. Look! They’re holding hands! Do you think he’s Kageyama-san’s _alpha_?”

“Yeah! I think he is. He _must_ be.”

“Imagine getting to be Kageyama-san’s alpha! That guy is so lucky!”

As soon as they’ve rounded enough corners to be away from prying eyes, Oikawa pulls Kageyama in for a kiss.

“Lucky, eh?” he murmurs into Kageyama’s mouth. "They don't know the half of it."

Kageyama smiles and kisses back.

He’s pretty sure the kids have it backwards, though.

_He’s_ the one who's lucky. These days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm still really uncertain about the names/honorifics. if anyone has a good reference they can recommend, please leave me the info (the ones i've read haven't helped me too much), and any corrections are always appreciated.
> 
> cheers!


End file.
